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V////ySA'Y//Af/f'.''Y.'.Vf/ff*'' 


AGAMEMNON,  LA  SAISIAZ 
AND  DRAMATIC  IDYLS 


ROBERT   BROWNING 


BOSTON 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND   COMPANY 

New  York  :  11  East  Seventeenth  Street 

(Ctc  Oiber^iDe  prcjssr",  Camfcribce 
1883 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge : 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Co. 


2  c 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

The  Agamemnon  of  iEscHYLUS     ....  7 

La  Saisiaz .  103 

The  Two  Poets  of  Croisic I53 

Pauline 225 

Dramatic  Idyls.     First  Series  ....  269 

Martin  Relph 271 

Pheidippides 284 

H albert  and  Hob 294 

~    Ivan  Ivanovitch 3°° 

Tray 3^6 

"^  Ned  Bratts 3^9 

Dramatic  Idyls.     Second  Series    .        .       .  351 

Echetlos 355 

Clive 358 

Muleykeh 377 

PlETRO   OF   ABANO 3^7 

Doctor  4i7 

Pan  and  Luna 43° 


ivilOllJi^ 


Digitized  by  tlie  Internet  Arcliive 

in  2008  witli  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


littp://www.arcli  ive.org/details/agamemnonlasaisiOObrowricli 


AGAMEMNON. 


May  I  be  permitted  to  chat  a  little,  by  way  of  recre- 
ation, at  the  end  of  a  somewhat  toilsome  and  perhaps 
fruitless  adventure  ? 

If,  because  of  the  immense  fame  of  the  following 
Tragedy,  I  wished  to  acquaint  myself  with  it,  and 
could  only  do  so  by  the  help  of  a  translator,  I  should 
require  him  to  be  literal  at  every  cost  save  that  of  ab- 
solute violence  to  our  language.  The  use  of  certain 
allowable  constructions  which,  happening  to  be  out  of 
daily  favor,  are  all  the  more  appropriate  to  archaic 
workmanship,  is  no  violence ;  but  I  would  be  tolerant 
for  once,  —  in  the  case  of  so  immensely  famous  an 
original,  —  of  even  a  clumsy  attempt  to  furnish  me 
with  the  very  turn  of  each  phrase  in  as  Greek  a  fash- 
ion as  English  will  bear;  while,  with  respect  to  ampli- 
fications and  embellishments,  anything  rather  than, 
with  the  good  farmer,  experience  that  most  signal  of 
mortifications,  "  to  gape  for  ^schylus  and  get  Theog- 
nis."  I  should  especially  decline,  — what  may  appear 
to  brighten  up  a  passage,  —  the  employment  of  a  new 
word  for  some  old  one  —  tto'i  o?,  or  /^eyas,  or  Ti\o<;,  with 
its  congeners,  recurring  four  times  in  three  lines  ;  for 
though  such  substitution  may  be  in  itself  perfectly  jus- 


tifiable,  yet  this  exercise  of  ingenuity  ought  to  be  with- 
in the  competence  of  the  unaided  English  reader  if  he 
likes  to  show  himself  ingenious.  Learning  Greek 
teaches  Greek,  and  nothing  else ;  certainly  not  com- 
mon sense,  if  that  have  failed  to  precede  the  teaching. 
Further,  if  I  obtained  a  mere  strict  bald  version  of 
thing  by  thing,  or  at  least  word  pregnant  with  thing,  I 
should  hardly  look  for  an  impossible  transmission  of 
the  reputed  magniloquence  and  sonority  of  the  Greek ; 
and  this  with  the  less  regret,  inasmuch  as  there  is 
abundant  musicality  elsewhere,  but  nowhere  else  than 
in  his  poem  the  ideas  of  the  poet.  And  lastly,  when 
presented  with  these  ideas,  I  should  expect  the  result 
to  prove  very  hard  reading  indeed  if  it  were  meant  to 
resemble  ^schylus,  ^v/x^aXeh'  oi  paSiuq,  "  not  easy  to 
understand,"  in  the  opinion  of  his  stoutest  advocate 
among  the  ancients,  while,  I  suppose,  even  modern 
scholarship  sympathizes  with  that  early  declaration  of 
the  redoubtable  Salmasius,  when,  looking  about  for  an 
example  of  the  truly  obscure  for  the  benefit  of  those 
who  found  obscurity  in  the  sacred  books,  he  protested 
that  this  particular  play  leaves  them  all  behind  in  this 
respect,  with  their  "  Hebraisms,  Syriasms,  Hellenisms, 
and  the  whole  of  such  bag  and  baggage."  ^     For,  over 

1  "  Quis  y^schylum  possit  affirmare  Grasce  nunc  scienti  magis 
patere  explicabilem  quam  Evangelia  aut  Epistolas  Apostolicas .'' 
Unus  ejus  Agamemnon  obscuritate  superat  quantum  est  librorum 


XI 

and  above  the  purposed  ambi^ity  of  the  Chorus,  the 
text  is  sadly  corrupt,  probably  interpolated,  and  cer- 
tainly mutilated ;  and  no  unlearned  person  enjoys  the 
scholar's  privilege  of  tr)'ing  his  fancy  upon  each  obsta- 
cle whenever  he  comes  to  a  stoppage,  and  effectually 
clearing  the  way  by  suppressing  what  seems  to  lie  in  it. 
All  I  can  say  for  the  present  performance  is,  that  I 
have  done  as  I  would  be  done  b}',  if  need  were.  Should 
anybody,  without  need,  honor  my  translation  by  a  com- 
parison with  the  original,  I  beg  him  to  obser\-e  that, 
following  no  editor  exclusively,  I  keep  to  the  earlier 
readings  so  long  as  sense  can  be  made  out  of  them, 
but  disregard,  I  hope,  little  of  importance  in  recent 
criticism  so  far  as  I  have  fallen  in  with  it.  Fortu- 
nately, the  poorest  translation,  provided  only  it  be 
faithful,  —  though  it  reproduce  all  the  artistic  confu- 
sion of  tenses,  moods,  and  persons  with  which  the 
original  teems,  —  will  not  only  suffice  to  display  what 
an  eloquent  friend  maintains  to  be  the  all-in-all  of  po- 
etr)-  —  "  the  action  of  the  piece"  —  but  may  help  to 
illustrate  his  assurance  that  "  the  Greeks  are  the  high- 
est models  of  expression,  the  unapproached  masters 
of  the  grand  style  ;  their  expression  is  so  excellent  be- 
cause it  is  so  admirably  kept  in  its  right  degree  of 

sacrorum  cum  suis  Hebraismis  et  Syriasmis  et  tota  Hellenisticae 
suppellectili  vel  farragine."  —  Salmasius,  De  HelUnistica,  Epist 
Dedic. 


tifiable,  yet  this  exercise  of  ingenuity  ought  to  be  witli- 
in  the  competence  of  the  unaided  EngUsh  reader  if  he 
likes  to  show  himself  ingenious.  Learning  Greek 
teaches  Greek,  and  nothing  else ;  certainly  not  com- 
mon sense,  if  that  have  failed  to  precede  the  teaching. 
Further,  if  I  obtained  a  mere  strict  bald  version  of 
thing  by  thing,  or  at  least  word  pregnant  with  thing,  I 
should  hardly  look  for  an  impossible  transmission  of 
the  reputed  magniloquence  and  sonority  of  the  Greek  ; 
and  this  with  the  less  regret,  inasmuch  as  there  is 
abundant  musicality  elsewhere,  but  nowhere  else  than 
in  his  poem  the  ideas  of  the  poet.  And  lastly,  when 
presented  with  these  ideas,  I  should  expect  the  result 
to  prove  very  hard  reading  indeed  if  it  were  meant  to 
resemble  ^schylus,  ^v/x/3a/\eti/  ov  paStos,  "  not  easy  to 
understand,"  in  the  opinion  of  his  stoutest  advocate 
among  the  ancients,  while,  I  suppose,  even  modern 
scholarship  sympathizes  with  that  early  declaration  of 
the  redoubtable  Salmasius,  when,  looking  about  for  an 
example  of  the  truly  obscure  for  the  benefit  of  those 
who  found  obscurity  in  the  sacred  books,  he  protested 
that  this  particular  play  leaves  them  all  behind  in  this 
respect,  with  their  "  Hebraisms,  Syriasms,  Hellenisms, 
and  the  whole  of  such  bag  and  baggage."  ^     For,  over 

1  "  Quis  ^schylum  possit  affirmare  Grxce  nunc  scienti  magis 
patere  explicabilem  quam  Evangelia  aut  Epistolas  Apostolicas  ? 
Unus  ejus  Agamemnon  obscuritate  superat  quantum  est  librorum 


XI 

and  above  the  purposed  ambiguity  of  the  Chorus,  the 
text  is  sadly  corrupt,  probably  interpolated,  and  cer- 
tainly mutilated  ;  and  no  unlearned  person  enjoys  the 
scholar's  privilege  of  trying  his  fancy  upon  each  obsta- 
cle whenever  he  comes  to  a  stoppage,  and  effectually 
clearing  the  way  by  suppressing  what  seems  to  lie  in  it. 
All  I  can  say  for  the  present  performance  is,  that  I 
have  done  as  I  would  be  done  by,  if  need  were.  Should 
anybod}',  without  need,  honor  my  translation  by  a  com- 
parison with  the  original,  I  beg  him  to  observe  that, 
following  no  editor  exclusively,  I  keep  to  the  earlier 
readings  so  long  as  sense  can  be  made  out  of  them, 
but  disregard,  I  hope,  little  of  importance  in  recent 
criticism  so  far  as  I  have  fallen  in  with  it.  Fortu- 
nately, the  poorest  translation,  provided  only  it  be 
faithful,  —  though  it  reproduce  all  the  artistic  confu- 
sion of  tenses,  moods,  and  persons  with  which  the 
original  teems,  —  will  not  only  suffice  to  display  what 
an  eloquent  friend  maintains  to  be  the  all-in-all  of  po- 
etry—  "  the  action  of  the  piece"  —  but  may  help  to 
illustrate  his  assurance  that  "  the  Greeks  are  the  high- 
est models  of  expression,  the  unapproached  masters 
of  the  grand  style  ;  their  expression  is  so  excellent  be- 
cause it  is  so  admirably  kept  in  its  right  degree  of 

sacrorum  cum  suis  Hebraismis  et  Syriasmis  et  tota  Hellenisticae 
suppellectili  vel  farragine."  —  Salmasius,  De  Hdlenistica,  EpisL 
Dedic. 


Xll 


prominence,  because  it  is  so  simple  and  so  well  sub- 
ordinated, because  it  draws  its  force  directly  from  the 
pregnancy  of  the  matter  which  it  conveys  .  .  .  not  a 
word  wasted,  not  a  sentiment  capriciously  thrown  in, 
stroke  on  stroke  !  "  ^     So  may  all  happen  ! 

Just  a  word  more  on  the  subject  of  my  spelling  — 
in  a  transcript  from  the  Greek  and  there  exclusively  — 
Greek  names  and  places  precisely  as  does  the  Greek 
author.  I  began  this  practice,  with  great  innocency 
of  intention,  some  six-and-thirty  years  ago.  Leigh 
Hunt,  I  remember,  was  accustomed  to  speak  of  his  grat- 
itude, when  ignorant  of  Greek,  to  those  writers  (like 
Goldsmith)  who  had  obliged  him  by  using  English 
characters,  so  that  he  might  relish,  for  instance,  the 
smooth  quality  of  such  a  phrase  as  "  hapalunetai 
galene;"  he  said  also  that  Shelley  was  indignant  at 
"Firenze"  having  displaced  the  Dantesque  "Fioren- 
za,"  and  would  contemptuously  English  the  intruder 
"  Firence."  I  supposed  I  was  doing  a  simple  thing 
enough ;  but  there  has  been  lately  much  astonishment 
at  OS  and  tis,  ai  and  oi,  representing  the  same  letters 
in  Greek.  Of  a  sudden,  however,  whether  in  transla- 
tion or  out  of  it,  everybody  seems  committing  the  of- 
fence, although  the  adoption  of  7i  for  v  still  presents 
such  difficulty  that  it  is  a  wonder  how  we  have  hith- 
erto escaped  "  Eyripides."  But  there  existed  a  sturdy 
1  Poems,  by  Matthew  Arnold,  Preface. 


Xlll 

Briton  who,  Ben  Jonson  informs  us,  wrote  "The  Life 
of  the  Emperor  Anthony  Pie,"  —  whom  we  now  ac- 
quiesce in  as  Antoninus  Pius :  for  "  with  time  and 
patience  the  mulberry  leaf  becomes  satin."  Yet  there 
is,  on  all  sides,  much  profession  of  respect  for  what 
Keats  called  "vowelled  Greek" — "consonanted," 
one  would  expect;  and,  in  a  criticism  upon  a  late  ad- 
mirable translation  of  something  of  my  own,  it  was  de- 
plored that,  in  a  certain  verse  corresponding  in  meas- 
ure to  the  two  hundred  and  fourteenth  of  the  fourth 
Pythian  Ode,  "  neither  Professor  Jebb  in  his  Greek,  nor 
;Mr.  Browning  in  his  English,  could  emulate  that  match- 
lessly musical  yovov  iSuiv  koXXlcttov  di  Spwi ."  Now,  un- 
doubtedly, "  Seeing  his  son  the  fairest  of  men "  has 
more  sense  than  sound  to  boast  of  ;  but  then,  would 
not  an  Italian  roll  us  out  "  Rimirando  il  figliuolo  bellis- 
simo  degli  uomini  ?  "  whereat  Pindar,  no  less  than  Pro- 
fessor Jebb  and  Mr.  Browning,  xpiaKTjJpos  o'x^e^TaL  tv)((^v. 
It  is  recorded  in  the  annals  of  Art,^  that  there  was 
once  upon  a  time,  practising  so  far  north  as  Stockholm, 
a  painter  and  picture-cleaner  —  sire  of  a  less  unhappy 
son  —  Old  Muytens  ;  and  the  annalist,  Baron  de 
Tesse,  has  not  concealed  his  profound  dissatisfaction 
at  old  Muytens'  conceit  ''to  have  himself  had  some- 
thing to  do  with  the  work  of  whatever  master  of  emi- 
nence might  pass   through   his   hands."     Whence   it 

1  Lcttits  a  unjeuiie  Prince,  traduites  du  Siiidois. 


XIV 

was,  —  the  Baron  goes  on  to  deplore,  —  that  much 
detriment  was  done  to  that  excellent  piece  "The 
Recognition  of  Achilles,"  by  Rubens,  through  the 
perversity  of  Old  Mu}tens,  "  who  must  needs  take  on 
him  to  beautify  every  nymph  of  the  twenty  by  the  be- 
stowment  of  a  widened  eye  and  an  enlarged  mouth." 
I,  at  least,  have  left  eyes  and  mouths  everywhere  as  I 
found  them,  and  this  conservatism  is  all  that  claims 
praise  for,  —  what  is,  after  all,  aKeXevcr-os  aiJ.Lcr6o<;  doiSa. 
No,  neither  "  uncommanded  "  nor  "  unrewarded  ;  " 
since  it  was  commanded  of  me  by  my  venerated 
friend  Thomas  Carlyle,  and  rewarded  will  it  indeed 
become,  if  I  am  permitted  to  dignify  it  by  the  pref- 
atory insertion  of  his  dear  and  noble  name. 

R.  B. 
London,  October  i,  1877. 


PERSONS  OF  THE  DRAMA. 

Warder. 

Chords  of  Old  Men. 

Klutaimnestra. 

TaLTHUBIOS,  Herald. 

Agamemnon- 

Kassandra. 

AlGISTHOS. 


AGAMEMNON. 


WARDER. 


The  gods  I  ask  deliverance  from  these  labors, 
Watch  of  a  year's  length  whereby,  slumbering  through 

it 
On  the  Atreidai's  roofs  on  elbow,  —  dog-like  — 
I  know  of  nightly  star-groups  the  assemblage, 
And  those  that  bring  to  men  winter  and  summer. 
Bright  dynasts,  as  they  pride  them  in  the  aether 
—  Stars,  when  they  wither,  and  the  uprisings  of  them. 
And  now  on  ward  I  wait  the  torch's  token, 
The  glow  of  fire,  shall  bring  from  Troia  message 
And  word  of  capture  :  so  prevails  audacious 
The  man's-way-planning  hoping  heart  of  woman. 
But  when  I,  driven  from  night-rest,  dew-drenched,  hold 

to 
This  couch  of  mine  —  not  looked  upon  by  visions, 
Since  fear  instead  of  sleep  still  stands  beside  me. 
So  as  that  fast  I  fix  in  sleep  no  eyelids  — 


lo  AGAMEMNON. 

And  when  to  sing  or  chirp  a  tune  I  fancy, 
For  slumber  such  song-remedy  infusing, 
I  wail  then,  for  this  House's  fortune  groaning, 
Not,  as  of  old,  after  the  best  ways  governed. 
Now,  lucky  be  deliverance  from  these  labors. 
At  good  news  —  the  appearing  dusky  fire  ! 
O  hail,  thou  l^rajp  of  night,  a  day-long  lightness 
Revealing,  and  6'r  dances  the  ordainment ! 
Hal'co,  halloo;! ,'/,  _    .' 

To  Agamemnon's  wife  I  show,  by  shouting, 
That,  from  bed  starting  up  at  once,  i'  the  household 
Joyous  acclaim,  good-omened  to  this  torch-blaze. 
She  send  aloft,  if  haply  Ilion's  city 
Be  taken,  as  the  beacon  boasts  announcing. 
Ay,  and,  for  me,  myself  will  dance  a  prelude, 
For,  that  my  masters'  dice  drop  right,  I  '11  reckon  : 
Since  thrice-six  has  it  thrown  to  me,  this  signal. 
Well,  may  it  hap  that,  as  he  comes,  the  loved  hand 
O'  the  household's  lord  I  may  sustain  with  this  hand  ! 
As  for  the  rest,  I  'm  mute  :  on  tongue  a  big  ox 
Has  trodden.     Yet  this  House,  if  voice  it  take  should, 
Most  plain  would  speak.     So,  willing  I  myself  speak 
To  those  who  know  :  to  who  know  not  —  I  'm  blank- 
ness. 

CHORDS. 

The  tenth  year  this,  since  Priamos'  great  match, 
King  Menelaos,  Agamemnon  King, 


AGAMEMNON:  1 9 

—  The  strenuous  yoke-pair  of  the  Atreidai's  honor 
Two-throned,  two-sceptred,  whereof  Zeus  was  donor  — 
Did  from  this  land  the  aid,  the  armament  dispatch, 
The  thousand-sailored  force  of  Argives  clamoring 

"  Ares  "  from  out  the  indignant  breast,  as  fling 
Passion  forth  vultures  which,  because  of  grief 
Away,  —  as  are  their  young  ones,  —  with  the  thief. 
Lofty  above  their  brood-nests  wheel  in  ring, 
Row  round  and  round  with  oar  of  either  wing. 
Lament  the  bedded  chicks,  lost  labor  that  was  love  : 
Which  hearing,  one  above 

—  Whether  Apollon,  Pan,  or  Zeus  —  that  w^ail, 
Sharp-piercing  bird-shriek  of  the  guests  who  fare 
Housemates  with  gods  in  air  — 

Suchanone  sends,  against  who  these  assail, 

What,  late-sent,  shall  not  fail 

Of  punishing  —  Erinus.     Here  as  there. 

The  Guardian  of  the  Guest,  Zeus,  the  excelling  one. 

Sends  against  Alexandros  either  son 

Of  Atreus  :  for  that  wife,  the  many-husbanded, 

Appointing  many  a  tug  that  tries  the  limb. 

While  the  knee  plays  the  prop  in  dust,  while,  shred 

To  morsels,  lies  the  spear-shaft ;  in  those  grim 

Marriage-prolusions  when  their  Fury  wed 

Danaoi  and  Troes,  both  alike.     All 's  said  : 

Things  are  where  things  are,  and,  as  fate  has  willed, 

So  shall  they  be  fulfilled. 


20  AGAMEMNON. 

Not  gently-grieving,  not  just  doling  out 

The  drops  of  expiation  —  no,  nor  tears  distilled  — 

Shall  he  we  know  of  bring  the  hard  about 

To  soft  —  that  intense  ire 

At  those  mock-rites  unsanctified  by  fire. 

But  we  pay  nought  here  :  through  our  flesh,  age- 
weighed, 

Left  out  from  who  gave  aid 

In  that  day,  —  we  remain, 

Staying  on  staves  a  strength 

The  equal  of  a  child's  at  length. 

For  when  young  marrow  in  the  breast  doth  reign, 

That 's  the  old  man's  match,  —  Ares  out  of  place 

In  either  :  but  in  oldest  age's  case. 

Foliage  a-fading,  why,  he  wends  his  way 

On  three  feet,  and,  no  stronger  than  a  child, 

Wanders  about  gone  wild, 

A  dream  in  day. 

But  thou,  Tundareus'  daughter,  Klutaimnestra  queen, 

What  need }  What  new  ?  What  having  heard  or 
seen, 

By  what  announcement's  tidings,  everywhere 

Settest  thou,  round  about,  the  sacrifice  a-flare  ? 

For,  of  all  gods  the  city-swaying, 

Those  supernal,  those  infernal, 

Those  of  the  fields',  those  of  the  mart's  obeying,  — 

The  altars  blaze  with  gifts ; 


AGAMEMNON.  21 

And  here  and  there,  heaven-high  the  torch  uplifts 

Flame  —  medicated  with  persuasions  mild, 

With  foul  admixture  unbeguiled  — 

Of  holy  unguent,  from  the  clotted  chrism 

Brought  from  the  palace,  safe  in  its  abysm. 

Of  these  things,  speaking  what  may  be  indeed 

Both  possible  and  lawful  to  concede, 

Healer  do  thou  become  !  — of  this  solicitude 

Which,  now,  stands  plainly  forth  of  evil  mood, 

And,  then  .  .  .  but  from  oblations,  hope,  to-day 

Gracious  appearing,  wards  away 

From  soul  the  insatiate  care, 

The  sorrow  at  my  breast,  devouring  there  ! 

Empowered  am  I  to  sing 

The  omens,  what  their  force  which,  journeying, 

Rejoiced  the  potentates : 

(For  still,  from  God,  inflates 

My  breast,  song-suasion  :  age, 

Born  to  the  business,  still  such  war  can  wage) 

—  How  the  fierce  bird  against  the  Teukris  land 
Dispatched,  with  spear  and  executing  hand, 

The   Achaian's   two-throned   empery  —  o'er    Hellas' 

youth 
Two  rulers  with  one  mind : 
The  birds'  king  to  these  kings  of  ships,  on  high, 

—  The  black  sort,  and  the  sort  that 's  white  behind  — 


22  AGAMEMNON. 

Appearing  by  the  palace,  on  the  spear-throw  side, 
In  right  sky-regions,  visible  far  and  wide,  — 
Devouring  a  hare-creature,  great  with  young. 
Baulked  of  more  racings  they,  as  she  from  whom  they 

sprung  ! 
Ah,  Linos,  say  —  ah.  Linos,  song  of  wail ! 
But  may  the  good  prevail ! 

The  prudent  army-prophet  seeing  two 

The  Atreidai,  two  their  tempers,  knew 

Those  feasting  on  the  hare 

The  armament-conductors  were  j 

And  thus  he  spoke,  explaining  signs  in  view. 

"  In  time,  this  outset  takes  the  town  of  Priamos  : 

But  all  before  its  towers,  —  the  people's  wealth  that 

was. 
Of  flocks  and  herds,  —  as   sure,  shall   booty-sharing 

thence 
Drain  to  the  dregs  away,  by  battle  violence. 
Only,  have  care  lest  grudge  of  any  god  disturb 
With  cloud  the  unsullied  shine  of  that  great  force,  the 

curb 
Of  Troia,  struck  with  damp 
Beforehand  in  the  camp  ! 
For  env}dngly  is 
The  virgin  Artemis 
Toward  —  her  father's  flying  hounds  —  this  House  — 


AGAMEMNON.  23 

The  sacrificers  of  the  piteous 

And  cowerhig  beast, 

Brood  and  all,  ere  the  birth:   she  hates  the  eagles' 

feast. 
Ah,  Linos,  say  —  ah.  Linos,  song  of  wail ! 
But  may  the  good  prevail ! 

Thus  ready  is  the  beauteous  one  with  help 

To  those  small  dew-drop  things  fierce  lions  whelp. 

And  udder-loving  litter  of  each  brute 

That  roams  the  mead  ;  and  therefore  makes  she  suit. 

The  fair  one,  for  fulfilment  to  the  end 

Of  things  these  signs  portend  — 

Which  partly  smile,  indeed,  but  partly  scowl  — 

The  phantasms  of  the  fowl. 

I  call  leios  Paian  to  avert 

She  work  the  Danaoi  hurt 

By  any  thwarting  waftures,  long  and  fast 

Holdings  from  sail  of  ships  : 

And  sacrifice,  another  than  the  last, 

She  for  herself  precipitate  — 

Something  unlawful,  feast  for  no  man's  lips. 

Builder  of  quarrels,  with  the  House  cognate  — 

Having  in  awe  no  husband  :  for  remains 

A  frightful,  backward-darting  in  the  path, 

Wily  house-keeping  chronicler  of  wrath, 

That  has  to  punish  that  old  children's  fate  !  " 


24  AGAMEMNON. 

Such  things  did  Kalchas,  —  with  abundant  gains 

As  well,  —  vociferate, 

Predictions  from  the  birds,  in  journeying. 

Above  the  abode  of  either  king. 

With  these,  sjTnphonious,  sing  — 

Ah,  Linos,  say  —  ah,  Linos,  song  of  wail ! 

But  may  the  good  prevail ! 

Zeus,  whosoe'er  he  be,  —  if  that  express 

Aught  dear  to  him  on  whom  I  call  — 

So  do  I  him  address. 

I  cannot  liken  out,  by  all 

Admeasurement  of  powers. 

Any  but  Zeus  for  refuge  at  such  hours, 

If  veritably  needs  I  must 

From  off  my  soul  its  vague  care-burthen  thrust. 

Not  —  whosoever  was  the  great  of  yore. 
Bursting  to  bloom  with  bravery  all  round  — 
Is  in  our  mouths  :  he  was,  but  is  no  more. 
And  who  it  was  that  after  came  to  be. 
Met  the  thrice-throwing  wrestler,  —  he 
Is  also  gone  to  ground. 

But  "Zeus"  —  if  any,  heart  and  soul,  that  name- 
Shouting  the  triumph-praise  —  proclaim, 
Complete  in  judgment  shall  that  man  be  found. 
Zeus,  who  leads  onward  mortals  to  be  wise, 


AGAMEMiXON.  2$ 

Appoints  that  suffering  masterfully  teach. 

In  sleep,  before  the  heart  of  each, 

A  woe-remembering  travail  sheds  in  dew 

Discretion,  —  ay,  and  melts  the  unwilling  too 

By  what,  perchance,  may  be  a  graciousness 

Of  gods,  enforced  no  less,  — 

As  they,  commanders  of  the  crew, 

Assume  the  awful  seat. 

And  then  the  old  leader  of  the  Achaian  fleet. 

Disparaging  no  seer  — 

With  bated  breath  to  suit  misfortune's  inrush  here 

—  (What  time  it  labored,  that  Achaian  host. 

By  stay  from  sailing,  —  every  pulse  at  length 

Emptied  of  vital  strength,  — 

Hard  over  Kalchis  shore-bound,  current-crost 

In  Aulis  station,  — while  the  winds  which  post 

From  Strumon,  ill-delayers,  famine-fraught, 

Tempters  of  man  to  sail  where  harborage  is  naught, 

Spendthrifts  of  ships  and  cables,  turning  time 

To  twice  the  length,  —  these  carded,  by  delay, 

To  less  and  less  away 

The  Argeians'  flowery  prime  : 

And  when  a  remedy  more  grave  and  grand 

Than  aught  before,  —  yea,  for  the  storm  and  dearth,  — 

The  prophet  to  the  foremost  in  command 

Shrieked  forth,  as  cause  of  this 

Adducing  Artemis, 


26  AGAMEMNON. 

So  that  the  Atreidai  striking  staves  on  earth 

Could  not  withhold  the  tear)  — 

Then  did  the  king,  the  elder,  speak  this  clear. 

"  Heavy  the  fate,  indeed,  —  to  disobey ! 

Yet  heavy  if  my  child  I  slay, 

The  adornment  of  my  household  :  with  the  tide 

Of  virgin-slaughter,  at  the  altar-side, 

A  father's  hands  defiling :  which  the  way 

Without  its  evils,  say  ? 

How  shall  I  turn  fleet-fugitive, 

Failing  of  duty  to  allies  ? 

Since  for  a  wind-abating  sacrifice 

And  virgin  blood,  —  't  is  right  they  strive, 

Nay,  madden  with  desire. 

Well  may  it  work  them  —  this  that  they  require  !  " 

But  when  he  underwent  necessity's 

Yoke-trace,  —  from  soul  blowing  unhallowed  change 

Unclean,  abominable,  —  thence  —  another  man  — 

The  audacious  mind  of  him  began 

Its  wildest  range. 

For  this  it  is  gives  mortals  hardihood  — 

Some  vice-devising  miserable  mood 

Of  madness,  and  first  woe  of  all  the  brood. 

The  sacrificer  of  his  daughter  —  strange  !  — 

He  dared  become,  to  expedite 


AGAMEMNO.V.  2/ 

Woman-avenging  warfare,  —  anchors  weighed 
With  such  prelusive  rite  ! 

Prayings  and  callings  "  Father  "  —  naught  they  made 

Of  these,  and  of  the  virgin-age,  — 

Captains  heart-set  on  war  to  wage  ! 

His  ministrants,  vows  done,  the  father  bade  — 

Kid-like,  above  the  altar,  swathed  in  pall, 

Take  her  —  lift  high,  and  have  no  fear  at  all. 

Head-downward,  and  the  fair  mouth's  guard 

And  frontage  hold,  — press  hard 

From  utterance  a  curse  against  the  House 

By  dint  of  bit  —  violence  bridling  speech. 

And  as  to  ground  her  saffron-vest  she  shed, 

She  smote  the  sacrificers  all  and  each 

With  arrow  sweet  and  piteous, 

From  the  eye  only  sped,  — 

Significant  of  will  to  use  a  word. 

Just  as  in  pictures  :  since,  full  many  a  time, 

In  her  sire's  guest-hall,  by  the  well-heaped  board 

Had  she  made  music,  —  lovingly  with  chime 

Of  her  chaste  voice,  that  unpolluted  thing, 

Honored  the  third  libation,  —  paian  that  should  bring 

Good  fortune  to  the  sire  she  loved  so  well. 

What  followed  —  those  things  I  nor  saw  nor  tell. 


28  AGAMEMNON. 

But  Kalchas'  arts,  —  vvhate'er  they  indicate,  — 
Miss  of  fulfilment  never  :  it  is  fate. 
True,  justice  makes,  in  sufferers,  a  desire 
To  know  the  future  woe  preponderate. 
But  —  hear  before  is  need  ? 

To  that,  farewell   and  welcome !    't  is   the   same,  in- 
deed, 
As  grief  beforehand  :  clearly,  part  for  part, 
Conformably  to  Kalchas'  art, 
Shall  come  the  event. 

But  be  they  as  they  may,  things  subsequent,  — 
What  is  to  do,  prosperity  betide 
E'en  as  we  wish  it !  — we,  the  next  allied. 
Sole  guarding  barrier  of  the  Apian  land. 

I  am  come,  reverencing  power  in  thee, 

0  Klutaimnestra !     For  't  is  just  we  bow 

To  the  ruler's  wife,  —  the  male-seat  man-bereaved. 
But  if  thou,  having  heard  good  news,  —  or  none,  — 
For  good  news'  hope  dost  sacrifice  thus  wide, 

1  would  hear  gladly  :  art  thou  mute,  —  no  grudge  ! 

KLUTAIMNESTRA. 

Good-news-announcer,  may  —  as  is  the  by-word  — 
Morn  become,  truly,  —  news  from  Night  his  mother ! 
But  thou  shalt  learn  joy  past  all  hope  of  hearing. 
Priamos'  city  have  the  Argeioi  taken. 


AGAMEMNON. 


CHORDS. 


29 


How  sayest  ?    The  word,  from  want  of  faith,  escaped 
me. 

KLUTAIMNESTRA. 

Troia  the  Achaioi  hold  :  do  I  speak  plainly  ? 

CHOROS. 

Joy  overcreeps  me,  calling  forth  the  tear-drop. 

KLUTAIMNESTRA. 

Right  !   for,  that  glad   thou    art,   thine    eye  convicts 
thee. 

CHOROS. 

For — what  to  thee,  of  all  this,  trusty  token  ? 

KLUTAIMNESTRA. 

What 's  here  !  how  else  ?  unless  the  god  have  cheated. 

CHORDS. 

Haply  thou  flattering  shows  of  dreams  respectest  ? 

KLUTAIMNESTRA. 

No  fancy  would  I  take  of  soul  sleep-burthened. 

CHORDS. 

But  has  there  puffed  thee  up  some  unwinged  omen  ? 


30  AGAMEMNON. 

KLUTAIMNESTRA. 

As  a  young  maid's  my  mind  thou  mockest  grossly. 

CHOROS. 

Well,  at  what  time  was  —  even  sacked,  the  city  ? 

KLUTAIMNESTRA. 

Of  this  same  mother  Night  —  the  dawn,  I  tell  thee. 

CHOROS. 

And  who  of  messengers  could  reach  this  swiftness  ? 

KLUTAIMNESTRA. 

Hephaistos  —  sending  a  bright  blaze  from  Ide. 
Beacon  did  beacon  send,  from  fire  the  poster, 
Hitherward  :  Ide  to  the  rock  Hermaian 
Of  Lemnos  :  and  a  third  great  torch  o'  the  island 
Zeus'  seat  received  in  turn,  the  Athoan  summit. 
And,  —  so  upsoaring  as  to  stride  sea  over, 
The  strong  lamp-voyager,  and  all  for  joyance  — 
Did  the  gold-glorious  splendor,  any  sun  like. 
Pass  on  —  the  pine-tree  —  to  Makistos'  watch-place ; 
Who  did  not,  —  tardy,  —  caught,  no  wits  about  him, 
By  sleep,  —  decline  his  portion  of  the  missive. 
And  far  the  beacon's  light,  on  stream  Euripos 
Arriving,  made  aware  Messapios'  warders. 


AGAMEMNON.  3 1 

And  up  they  lit  in  turn,  played  herald  onwards, 
Kindling  with  flame  a  heap  of  gray  old  heather. 
And,  strengthening  still,  the  lamp,  decaying  nowise, 
Springing  o'er  Plain  Asopos,  —  full-moon-fashion 
Effulgent,  —  toward  the  crag  of  Mount  Kithairon, 
Roused  a  new  rendering-up  of  fire  the  escort  — 
And  light,  far  escort,  lacked  no  recognition 
O' the  guard  —  as  burning  more  than  burnings  told 

you. 
And  over  Lake  Gorgopis  light  went  leaping, 
And,  at  Mount  Aigiplanktos  safe  arriving, 
Enforced  the  law —  "to  never  stint  the  fire-stuff." 
And  they  send,  lighting  up  with  ungrudged  vigor, 
Of  flame  a  huge  beard,  ay,  the  very  foreland 
So  as  to  strike  above,  in  burning  onward, 
The  look-out  which  commands  the  Strait  Saronic. 
Then  did  it  dart  until  it  reached  the  outpost 
Mount  Arachnaios  here,  the  city's  neighbor  -, 
And  then  darts  to  this  roof  of  the  Atreidai 
This  light  of  Ide"s  fire  not  unforefathered  ! 
Such  are  the  rules  prescribed  the  flambeau-bearers : 
He  beats  that 's  first  and  also  last  in  running. 
Such  is  the  proof  and  token  I  declare  thee. 
My  husband  having  sent  me  news  from  Troia. 

CHOROS. 

The  gods,  indeed,  anon  will  I  pray,  woman ! 


32  AGAMEMNON. 

But  now,  these  words  to  hear,  and  sate  my  wonder 
Thoroughly,  I  am  fain  —  if  twice  thou  tell  them. 

KLUTAIMNESTRA. 

Troia  do  the  Achaioi  hold,  this  same  day. 
I  think  a  noise  —  no  mixture  —  reigns  i'  the  city. 
Sour  wine  and  unguent  pour  thou  in  one  vessel  — 
Standers-apart,  not  lovers,  would'st  thou  style  them  : 
And  so,  of  captives  and  of  conquerors,  partwise 
The  voices  are  to  hear,  of  fortune  diverse. 
For  those,  indeed,  upon  the  bodies  prostrate 
Of  husbands,  brothers,  children  upon  parents 
—  The  old  men,  from  a  throat  that 's  free  no  longer, 
Shriekingly  wail  the  death-doom  of  their  dearest : 
While  these  —  the  after-battle  hungry  labor. 
Which  prompts  night-faring,  marshals  them  to  break- 
fast 
On  the  town's  store,  according  to  no  billet 
Of  sharing,  but  as  each  drew  lot  of  fortune. 
In  the  spear-captured  Troic  habitations 
House  they  already :  from  the  frosts  upaethral 
And  dews  delivered,  will  they,  luckless  creatures. 
Without  a  watch  to  keep,  slumber  all  night  through. 
And  if  they  fear  the  gods,  the  city-guarders, 
And  the  gods'  structures  of  the  conquered  country, 
They  may  not  —  capturers  —  soon  in  turn  be  captive. 
But  see  no  prior  lust  befall  the  army 


AGAMEMNON.  33 

To  sack  things  sacred  —  by  gain-cravings  vanquished  ! 
For  there  needs  homeward  the  return's  salvation, 
To   round   the   new  limb   back  o'  the  double   race- 
course. 
And  guilty  to  the  gods  if  came  the  army, 
Awakened  up  the  sorrow  of  those  slaughtered 
Might  be  — should  no  outbursting  evils  happen. 
But  may  good  beat  —  no  turn  to  see  i'  the  balance  ! 
For,  many  benefits  I  want  the  gain  of. 

CHOROS. 

Woman,  like  prudent  man  thou  kindly  speakest. 
And  I,  thus  having  heard  thy  trusty  tokens. 
The  gods  to  rightly  hail  forthwith  prepare  me  ; 
For,  grace  that  must  be  paid  has  crowned  our  labors. 

O  Zeus  the  king,  and  friendly  Night 

Of  these  brave  boons  bestower  — 

Thou  who  didst  fling  on  Troia's  every  tower 

The  o'er-roofing  snare,  that  neither  great  thing  might, 

Nor  any  of  the  young  ones,  overpass 

Captivity's  great  sweep-net  —  one  and  all 

Of  Ate  held  in  thrall  ! 

Ay,  Zeus  I  fear  —  the  guest's  friend  great  —  who  was 

The  doer  of  this,  and  long  since  bent 

The  bow  on  Alexandros  with  intent 

That  neither  wide  o'  the  white 


34  AGAMEMNON: 

Nor  o'er  the  stars  the  fooHsh  dart  should  light. 

The  stroke  of  Zeus  —  they  have  it,  as  men  say  ! 

This,  at  least,  from  the  source  track  forth  we  may ! 

As  he  ordained,  so  has  he  done. 

"  No  "  —  said  someone  — 

"  The  gods  think  fit  to  care 

Nowise  for  mortals,  such 

As  those  by  whom  the  good  and  fair 

Of  things  denied  their  touch 

Is  trampled  !  "  but  he  was  profane. 

That  they  do  care,  has  been  made  plain 

To  offspring  of  the  over-bold, 

Outbreathing  "Ares  "  greater  than  is  just  — 

Houses  that  spill  with  more  than  they  can  hold, 

More  than  is  best  for  man.     Be  man's  what  must 

Keep  harm  off,  so  that  in  himself  he  find 

Sufficiency  —  the  well-endowed  of  mind  ! 

For  there's  no  bulwark  in  man's  wealth  to  him 

Who,  through  a  surfeit,  kicks  —  into  the  dim 

And  disappearing  —  Right's  great  altar. 

Yes  — 
It  urges  him,  the  sad  persuasiveness, 
Ate's  insufferable  child  that  schemes 
Treason  beforehand  :  and  all  cure  is  vain. 
It  is  not  hidden  :  out  it  glares  again, 
A  light  dread-lamping-mischief,  just  as  gleams 


AGAMEMNON.  35 

The  badness  of  the  bronze  ; 

Through  rubbing,  puttings  to  the  touch, 

Black-clotted  is  he,  judged  at  once. 

He  seeks  —  the  boy  —  a  flying  bird  to  clutch, 

The  insufferable  brand 

Setting  upon  the  city  of  his  land 

Whereof  not  any  god  hears  prayer  ; 

While  him  who  brought  about  such  evils  there, 

That  unjust  man,  the  god  in  grapple  throws. 

Such  an  one,  Paris  goes 

Within  the  Atreidai's  house  — 

Shamed  the  guest's  board  by  robbery  of  the  spouse. 

And,  leaving  to  her  townsmen  throngs  a-spread 

With  shields,  and  spear-thrusts  of  sea-armament, 

And  bringing  Ilion,  in  a  dowry's  stead, 

Destruction  —  swiftly  through  the  gates  she  went. 

Daring  the  undareable.     But  many  a  groan  outbroke 

From  prophets  of  the  House  as  thus  they  spoke. 

"  Woe,  woe  the  House,  the  House  and  Rulers,  —  woe 

The  marriage-bed  and  dints 

A  husband's  love  imprints  ! 

There  she  stands  silent !  meets  no  honor  —  no 

Shame  —  sweetest  still  to  see  of  things  gone  long  ago  ! 

And,  through  desire  of  one  across  the  main, 

A  ghost  will  seem  within  the  house  to  reign  *. 

And  hateful  to  the  husband  is  the  grace 


36  AGAMEMNON. 

Of  well-shaped  statues  :  from  —  in  place  of  eyes, 
Those  blanks  —  all  Aphrodite  dies. 

"  But  dream-appearing  mournful  fantasies  — 

There  they  stand,  bringing  grace  that  *s  vain. 

For  vain  't  is,  when  brave  things  one  seems  to  view ; 

The  fantasy  has  floated  off,  hands  through  ; 

Gone,  that  appearance,  —  nowise  left  to  creep,  — 

On  wings,  the  servants  in  the  paths  of  sleep  !  " 

Woes,  then,  in  household  and  on  hearth,  are  such 

As  these  —  and  woes  surpassing  these  by  much. 

But  not  these  only  :  everywhere  — 

For  those  who  from  the  land 

Of  Hellas  issued  in  a  band. 

Sorrow,  the  heart  must  bear, 

Sits  in  the  home  of  each,  conspicuous  there. 

Many  a  circumstance,  at  least, 

Touches  the  very  breast. 

For  those 

Whom  any  sent  away,  —  he  knows  : 

And  in  the  live  man's  stead. 

Armor  and  ashes  reach 

The  house  of  each. 

For  Ares,  gold-exchanger  for  the  dead, 
And  balance-holder  in  the  fight  o'  the  spear. 
Due-weight  from  Ilion  sends  — 


AGAMEMNON.  37 

What  moves  the  tear  on  tear  — 
A  charred  scrap  to  the  friends  : 
Filling  with  well-packed  ashes  every  urn, 
For  man  that  was  the  sole  return. 
And  they  groan  —  praising  much,  the  while, 
Now  this  man  as  experienced  in  the  strife, 
Now  that,  fallen  nobly  on  a  slaughtered  pile. 
Because  of  —  not  his  own  —  another's  wife. 
But  things  there  be,  one  barks. 
When  no  man  harks  : 
A  surreptitious  grief  that 's  grudge 
Against  the  Atreidai,  who  first  sought  the  judge. 
But  some  there,  round  the  rampart,  have 
In  Ilian  earth,  each  one  his  grave  : 
All  fair-formed  as  at  birth, 

It  hid  them  —  what  they  have  and  hold  —  the  hostile 
earth. 

And  grave  with  anger  goes  the  city's  word. 

And  pays  a  debt  by  public  curse  incurred. 

And  ever  with  me  —  as  about  to  hear 

A  something  night-involved  —  remains  my  fear  : 

Since  of  the  many-slayers  —  not 

Unwatching  are  the  gods. 

The  black  Erinues,  at  due  periods  — 

Whoever  gains  the  lot 

Of  fortune  with  no  right  — 


38  AGAMEMNON. 

Him,  by  life's  strain  and  stress 

Back-again-beaten  from  success, 

They  strike  blind  :  and  among  the  out-of-sight 

For  who  has  got  to  be,  avails  no  might. 

The  being  praised  outrageously 

Is  grave,  for  at  the  eyes  of  such  an  one 

Is  launched,  from  Zeus,  the  thunder-stone. 

Therefore  do  I  decide 

For  so  much  and  no  more  prosperity 

Than  of  his  envy  passes  unespied. 

Neither  acity-sacker  would  I  be. 

Nor  life,  myself  by  others  captive,  see. 

A  swift  report  has  gone  our  city  through, 

From  fire,  the  good-news  messenger  :  if  true, 

Who  knows  ?     Or  is  it  not  a  god-sent  lie  ? 

Who  is  so  childish  and  deprived  of  sense 

That,  having,  at  announcements  of  the  flame 

Thus  novel,  felt  his  own  heart  fired  thereby, 

He  then  shall,  at  a  change  of  evidence. 

Be  worsted  just  the  same  ? 

It  is  conspicuous  in  a  woman's  nature, 

Before  its  view  to  take  a  grace  for  granted : 

Too  trustful,  —  on  her  boundary,  usurpature 

Is  swiftly  made ; 

But  swiftly,  too,  decayed, 

The  glory  perishes  by  woman  vaunted 


AGAMEMNON.  39 

KLUTAIIMNESTRA. 

Soon  shall  we  know  —  of  these  light-bearing  torches, 
And  beacons  and  exchanges,  fire  with  fire  — 
If  they  are  true,  indeed,  or  if,  dream-fashion, 
This  gladsome  light  came  and  deceived  our  judgment. 
Yon  herald  from  the  shore  I  see,  o'ershadowed 
With  boughs  of  oliv^e  :  dust,  mud's  thirsty  brother, 
Close  neighbors  on  his  garb,  thus  testify  me 
That  neither  voiceless,  nor  yet  kindling  for  thee 
Mountain-wood-flame,  shall  he  explain  by  fire-smoke  : 
But  either  tell  out  more  the  joyance,  speaking.  .  .  . 
Word  contrary  to  which,  I  aught  but  love  it! 
For  may  good  be  —  to  good  that 's  known  —  append- 
age ! 

CHORDS. 

Whoever  prays  for  aught  else  to  this  city 

—  May  he  himself  reap  fruit  of  his  mind's  error  ! 

HERALD. 

Ha,  my  forefathers'  soil  of  earth  Argeian  ! 
Thee,  in  this  year's  tenth  light,  am  I  returned  to  — 
Of  many  broken  hopes,  on  one  hope  chancing  ; 
For  never  prayed  I,  in  this  earth  Argeian 
Dying,  to  share  my  part  in  tomb  the  dearest. 
Now,  hail  thou  earth,  and  hail  thou  also,  sunlight, 
And  Zeus,  the  country's  lord,  and  king  the  Puthian 


40  AGAMEMNON: 

From  bow  no  longer  urging  at  us  arrows ! 
Enough,  beside  Skamandros,  cam'st  thou  adverse : 
Now,  contrary,  be  saviour  thou  and  healer, 
O  king  Apollon  !     And  gods  conquest-granting, 
All  —  I  invoke  too,  and  m}^  tutelary- 
Hermes,  dear  herald,  heralds'  veneration,  — 
And  Heroes  our  forthsenders,  —  friendly,  once  more 
The  army  to  receive,  the  war-spear's  leavings  ! 
Ha,  mansions  of  my  monarchs,  roofs  beloved. 
And  awful  seats,  and  deities  sun- fronting  — 
Receive  with  pomp  your  monarch,  long  time  absent ! 
For  he  comes  bringing  light  in  night-time  to  you, 
In  common  with  all  these  —  king  Agamemnon. 
But  kindly  greet  him  — for  clear  shows  your  duty  — 
Who  has  dug  under  Troia  with  the  mattock 
Of  Zeus  the  Avenger,  whereby  plains  are  out-ploughed, 
Altars  unrecognizable,  and  gods'  shrines, 
And  the  whole  land's  seed  thoroughly  has  perished. 
And  such  a  yoke-strap  having  cast  round  Troia, 
The  elder  king  Atreides,  happy  man  —  he 
Comes  to  be  honored,  worthiest  of  what  mortals 
Now  are.     Nor  Paris  nor  the  accomplice-city 
Outvaunts  their  deed  as  more  than  they  are  done-by  : 
For,  in  a  suit  for  rape  and  theft  found  guiUy, 
He  missed  of  plunder  and,  in  one  destruction. 
Fatherland,  house  and  home  has  mowed  to  atoms  : 
Debts  the  Priamidai  have  paid  twice  over. 


AGAMEMNON.  4I 

CHORDS. 

Hail,  herald  from  the  army  of  Achaians ! 

HERALD. 

I  hail  :  —  to  die,  will  gainsay  gods  no  longer ! 

CHOROS. 

Love  of  this  fatherland  did  exercise  thee  ? 

HERALD. 

So  that  I  weep,  at  least,  with  joy,  my  eyes  full. 

CHOROS. 

What,  of  this  gracious  sickness  were  ye  gainers  ? 

HERALD. 

How  now  ?  instructed,  I  this  speech  shall  master. 

CHORDS. 

For  those  who  loved  you  back,  with  longing  stricken. 

HERALD. 

This  land  yearned  for  the  yearning  army,  say'st  thou  ? 

CHOROS. 

So  as  to  set  me  oft,  from  dark  mind,  groaning. 


42  AGAMEMNON. 

HERALD. 

Whence  came  this  ill  mind  —  hatred  to  the  army  ? 

CHOROS. 

Of  old,  I  use,  for  mischief's  physic,  silence. 

HERALD. 

And  how,  the  chiefs  away,  did  you  fear  any  ? 

CHOROS. 

So  that  now,  —  late   thy  word,  —  much   joy  were  — 
dying  ! 

HERALD. 

For  well  have  things   been  worked  out :  these,  —  in 

much  time, 
Some  of  them,  one  might  say,  had  luck  in  falling, 
While  some  were  faulty  :  for  who,  gods  excepted, 
Goes,  through  the  whole  time  of  his  life,  ungrieving  ? 
For  labors  should  I  tell  of,  and  bad  lodgments, 
Narrow   deckways   ill-strewn,  too,  —  what    the    day's 

woe 
We  did  not  groan  at  getting  for  our  portion .? 
As  for  land-things,  again,  on  went  more  hatred  ! 
Since  beds  were  ours  hard  by  the  foemen's  ramparts, 
And,  out  of  heaven  and  from  the  earth,  the  meadow 
Dews  kept  a-sprinkle,  an  abiding  damage 


AGAMEMNON.  43 

Of  vestures,  making  hair  a  wild-beast  matting. 

Winter,  too,  if  one  told  of  it  —  bird-slaying  — 

Such  as,  unbearable,  Idaian  snow  brought  — 

Or  heat,  when  waveless,  on  its  noontide  couches 

Without  a  wind,  the  sea  would  slumber  falling 

—  Why  must  one   mourn   thee  ?     O'er  and  gone  is 

labor : 
O'er  and  gone  is  it,  even  to  those  dead  ones. 
So  that  no  more  again  they  mind  uprising. 
Why  must  we  tell  in  numbers  those  deprived  ones, 
And   the   live   man  be  vexed  with  fate's  fresh   out- 
break ? 
Rather,  I  bid  full  farewell  to  misfortunes ! 
For  us,  the  left  from  out  the  Argeian  army. 
The  gain  beats,  nor  does  sorrow  counterbalance. 
So  that  't  is  fitly  boasted  of,  this  sunlight, 
By  us,  o'er  sea  and  land  the  aery  flyers, 
"  Troia  at  last  taking,  the  band  of  Argives 
Hang  up  such  trophies  to  the  gods  of  Hellas 
Within  their  domes  —  new  glory  to  grow  ancient !  " 
Such  things  men  having  heard  must  praise  the  city 
And   army-leaders  :    and   the   grace   which   wrought 

them  — 
Of  Zeus,   shall   honored   be.     Thou   hast   my  whole 
word. 

CHORDS. 

O'ercome  by  words,  their  sense  I  do  not  gainsay. 


44  AGAMEMNON. 

For,  aj-e  this  breeds  youth  in  the   old  — "  to  learn 

well." 
But  these  things  most  the  house  and  Klutaimnestra 
Concern,  't  is  likely  :  while  they  make  me  rich,  too. 

KLUTAIMXESTRA, 

I  shouted  long  ago,  indeed,  for  joyance, 
When  came  that  first  night-messenger  of  fire 
Proclaiming  Ilion's  capture  and  dispersion. 
And  someone,  girding  me,  said   "  Through  fire-bearers 
Persuaded  —  Troia  to  be  sacked  now,  thinkest  > 
Truly,  the  woman's  way,  —  high  to  lift  heart  up  !  " 
By  such  words  I  was  made  seem  wit-bewildered  : 
Yet  still  I  sacrificed  ;  and,  —  female-song  with,  — 
A  shout  one  man  and  other,  through  the  cit}^. 
Set  up,  congratulating  in  the  gods'  seats. 
Soothing  the  incense-eating  flame  right  fragrant 
And  now,  what 's  more,  indeed,  why  need'st  thou   tell 

me  ? 
I  of  the  king  himself  shall  learn  the  whole  word : 
And,  —  as  may  best  be,  —  I  my  revered  husband 
Shall  hasten,  as  he  comes  back,  to  receive :  for  — 
What 's  to  a  wife  sweeter  to  see  than  this  light 
(Her  husband,  by  the  god  saved,  back  from  warfare) 
So  as  to  open  gates  ?     This  tell  my  husband  — 
To  come  at  soonest  to  his  loving  city. 
A  faithful  wife  at  home  may  he  find,  coming ! 


AGAMEMXON.  45 

Such  an  one  as  he  left  —  the  dog  o'  the  household  — 
Trusty  to  him,  adverse  to  the  ill-minded, 
And,  in  all  else,  the  same  :  no  signet-impress 
Having  done  harm  to,  in  that  time's  duration. 
I  know  nor  pleasure,  nor  blameworthy  converse 
With  any  other  man  more  than  —  bronze-dippings  ! 

HERALD. 

Such  boast  as  this  —  of  the  veracious  brimful  — 
Is  not  bad  for  a  high-born  dame  to  send  forth  ! 

CHOROS. 

A)',  she  spoke  thus  to  thee  —  that  hast  a  knowledge 

From  clear  interpreters  —  a  speech  most  seemly  ! 

But  speak  thou,  herald  !     Meneleos  I  ask  of  : 

If  he,  returning,  back  in  safety  also 

Will  come  with  you  —  this  land's  beloved  chieftain  ? 

HERALD. 

There  's  no  way  I  might  say  things  false  and  pleasant 
For  friends  to  reap  the  fruits  of  through  a  long  time, 

CHORDS. 

How  then  if,  speaking  good,  things  true  thou  chance 
on  ? 

HERALD. 

For,  sundered,  not  well-hidden  things  become  they. 


46  AGAMEMNON. 

The  man  has  vanished  from  the  Achaic  army, 
He  and  his  ship  too.     I  announce  no  falsehood. 

CHOROS. 

Whether  forth-putting  openly  from  Ilion, 
Or   did   storm  —  wide   woe  —  snatch   him   from    the 
army  ? 

HERALD. 

Thou  hast,  like  topping  bowman,  touched  the  target, 
And  a  long  sorrow  hast  succinctly  spoken. 

CHOROS. 

Whether,  then,  of  him,  as  a  live  or  dead  man 
Was  the  report  by  other  sailors  bruited  ? 

HERALD. 

Nobody  knows  so  as  to  tell  out  clearly 
Excepting  Helios  who  sustains  earth's  nature. 

CHORDS. 

How  say'st  thou  then,  did  storm  the  naval  army 
Attack  and  end,  by  the  celestials'  anger? 

HERALD. 

It  suits  not  to  defile  a  day  auspicious 

With  ill-announcing  speech  :  distinct  each  god's  due  : 

And  when  a  messenger  with  gloomy  visage 


AGAMEMNON.  47 

To   a   city  bears   a   fall'n   host's   woes  —  God   ward 

off  !  — 
One  popular  wound  that  happens  to  the  city, 
And  many  sacrificed  from  many  households  — 
Men,  scourged  by  that  two-thonged  whip  Ares  loves 

so. 
Double  spear-headed  curse,  bloody  yoke-couple.  — 
Of  woes  like  these,  doubtless,  whoe'er  comes  weighted, 
Him  does  it  suit  to  sing  the  Erinues'  paian. 
But  who,  of  matters  saved  a  glad-news-bringer, 
Comes  to  a  cit}'  in  good  estate  rejoicing.  .  .  . 
How  shall  I  niLx  good  things  with  evil,  telling 
Of  storm  against  the  Achaioi,  urged  by  gods'  wrath  ? 
For  they  swore  league,  being  arch-foes  before  that. 
Fire  and  the  sea  :  and  plighted  troth  approved  they, 
Destroying  the  unhappy  Argeian  army. 
At  night  began  the  bad-wave-outbreak  evils  ; 
For,  ships  against  each  other  Threkian  breezes 
Shattered  :  and  these,  butted  at  in  a  fury 
By  storm  and  t}-phoon,  with  surge  rain-resounding,  — 
Off  they  went,  vanished,  thro'  a  bad  herd's  whirling. 
And,  when  returned  the  brilliant  light  of  Helios, 
We  view  the  Aigaian  sea  on  flower  with  corpses 
Of  men  Achaian  and  with  naval  ravage. 
But  us  indeed,  and  ship,  unhurt  i'  the  hull  too, 
Either  some  one  out-stole  us  or  out-prayed  us  — 
Some  god  —  no  man  it  was  the  tiller  touching. 


48  AGAMEMNON. 

And  Fortune,  saviour,  willing  on  our  ship  sat. 
So  as  it  neither  had  in  harbor  wave-surge 
Nor  ran  aground  against  a  shore  all  rocky. 
And  then,  the  water  Hades  having  fled  from 
In  the  white  day,  not  trusting  to  our  fortune, 
We  chewed  the  cud  in  thoughts  —  this  novel  sorrow 
O'  the  army  laboring  and  badly  pounded. 
And  now  —  of  them  if  anyone  is  breathing  — 
They  talk  of  us  as  having  perished  :  why  not  ? 
And  we  —  that  they  the  same  fate  have,  imagine. 
May  it  be  for  the  best !     Meneleos,  then, 
Foremost  and  specially  to  come,  expect  thou  ! 
If  (that  is)  any  ray  o'  the  sun  reports  him 
Living  and  seeing  too  —  by  Zeus'  contrivings, 
Not  yet  disposed  to  quite  destroy  the  lineage  — 
Some  hope  is  he  shall  come  again  to  household. 
Having  heard  such  things,  know,  thou  truth  art  hear- 
ing ! 

CHOROS. 

Who  may  he  have  been  that  named  thus  wholly  with 
exactitude  — 

(Was  he  someone  whom  we  see  not,  by  forecastings  of 
the  future 

Guiding  tongue  in  happy  mood  ?) 

—  Her  with  battle  for  a  bridegroom,  on  all  sides  con- 
tention-wooed, 

Helena  ?     Since  —  mark  the  suture  !  — 


AGAMEM.VON. 


49 


Ship's-Hell,  Man's-Hell,  City's-Hell, 

From  the  delicately-pompous   curtains  that  pavilion 

well, 
Forth,  by  favor  of  the  gale 
Of  earth-born  Zephuros  did  she  sail. 
Many  shield-bearers,  leaders  of  the  pack, 
Sailed  too  upon  their  track, 
Theirs  who  had  directed  oar, 
Then  visible  no  more, 
To  Simois'  leaf-luxuriant  shore  — 
For  sake  of  strife  all  gore  ! 

To  Ilion  Wrath,  fulfilling  her  intent, 
This  marriage-care  —  the  rightly  named  so  —  sent : 
In  after-time,  for  the  tables'  abuse 
And  that  of  the  hearth-partaker  Zeus, 
Bringing  to  punishment 
Those  who  honored  with  noisy  throat 
The  honor  of  the  bride,  the  h3^menaeal  note 
Which  did  the  kinsfolk  then  to  singing  urge. 
But,  learning  a  new  hymn  for  that  which  was. 
The  ancient  city  of  Priamos 
Groans  probably  a  great  and  general  dirge 
Denominating  Paris 
"  The  man  that  miserably  marries  :  "  — 
She  who,  all  the  while  before, 
A  life,  that  was  a  general  dirge 
4 


50  AGAMEMNON. 

For  citizens'  unhappy  slaughter,  bore. 

And  thus  a  man,  by  no  milk's  help, 

Within  his  household  reared  a  lion's  whelp 

That  loved  the  teat 

In  life's  first  festal  stage  : 

Gentle  as  yet, 

A  true  child-lover,  and,  to  men  of  age, 

A  thing  whereat  pride  warms  ; 

And  oft  he  had  it  in  his  arms 

Like  any  new-born  babe,  bright-faced,  to  hand 

Wagging  its  tail,  at  belly's  strict  command. 

But  in  due  time  upgrown. 

The  custom  of  progenitors  was  shown  : 

For  —  thanks  for  sustenance  repaying 

With  ravage  of  sheep  slaughtered  — 

It  made  unbidden  feast ; 

With  blood  the  house  was  watered. 

To  household — woe  there  was  no  staying: 

Great  mischief  many-slaying ! 

From  God  it  was  —  some  priest 

Of  Ate,  in  the  house,  by  nurture  thus  increased. 

At  first,  then,  to  the  city  of  Ilion  went 
A  soul,  as  I  might  say,  of  windless  calm  — 
Wealth's  quiet  ornament, 
An  eyes'  dart  bearing  balm. 


AGAMEMNON.  ^        5 1 

Love's  spirit-biting  flower. 

But — from  the  true  course  bending  — 

She  brought  about,  of  marriage,  bitter  ending  : 

Ill-resident,  ill-mate,  in  power 

Passing  to  the  Priamidai  —  by  sending 

Of  Hospitable  Zeus  — 

Erinus  for  a  bride,  —  to  make  brides  mourn,  her  dower. 

Spoken  long  ago 

Was  the  ancient  saying 

Still  among  mortals  staying : 

*'  Man's  great  prosperity  at  height  of  rise 

Engenders  offspring  nor  unchilded  dies  ; 

And,  from  good  fortune,  to  such  families, 

Buds  forth  insatiate  woe." 

Whereas,  distinct  from  any, 

Of  my  own  mind  I  am  : 

For  't  is  the  unholy  deed  begets  the  many, 

Resembling  each  its  dam. 

Of  households  that  correctly  estimate, 

Ever  a  beauteous  child  is  born  of  Fate. 

But  ancient  Arrogance  delights  to  generate 
Arrogance,  young  and  strong  mid  mortals'  sorrow. 
Or  now,  or  then,  when  comes  the  appointed  morrow. 
And  she  bears  young  Satiety ; 
And,  fiend  with  whom  nor  fight  nor  war  can  be, 


52  AGAMEMNON. 

Unholy  Daring  —  twin  black  Curses 

Within  the  household,  children  like  their  nurses. 

But  Justice  shines  in  smoke-grimed  habitations, 

And  honors  the  well-omened  life  ; 

While,  —  gold-besprinkled  stations 

Where  the  hands'  filth  is  rife, 

With  backward-turning  eyes 

Leaving,  —  to  holy  seats  she  hies. 

Not  worshipping  the  power  of  wealth 

Stamped  with  applause  by  stealth  : 

And  to  its  end  directs  each  thing  begun. 

Approach  then,  my  monarch,  of  Troia  the  sacker,  of 

Atreus  the  son ! 
How  ought  I  address  thee,  how  ought  I  revere  thee,  — 

nor  yet  overhitting 
Nor  yet  underbending  the  grace  that  is  fitting  ? 
Many  of  mortals  hasten  to  honor  the  seeming-to-be  — 
Passing  by  justice  :  and,  with  the  ill-faring,  to  groan 

as  he  groans  all  are  free. 
But  no  bite  of  the  sorrow  their  liver  has  reached  to : 
They  say  with  the  joyful,  —  one  outside  on  each,  too. 
As  they  force  to  a  smile  smileless  faces. 
But  whoever  is  good  at  distinguishing  races 
In  sheep  of  his  flock  —  it  is  not  for  the  eyes 
Of  a  man  to  escape  such  a  shepherd's  surprise. 


AGAMEMNON.  53 

As  they  seem,  from  a  well-wishing  mind, 

In  watery  friendship  to  fawn  and  be  kind. 

Thou  to  me,  then,  indeed,  sending  an  army  for  He- 
lena's sake, 

(I  will  not  conceal  it)  wast  —  oh,  by  no  help  of  the 
Muses  !  —  depicted 

Not  well  of  thy  midriff  the  rudder  directing,  —  con- 
victed 

Of  bringing  a  boldness  they  did  not  desire  to  the  men 
with  existence  at  stake. 

But  now  —  from  no  outside  of  mind,  nor  unlovingly  — 
gracious  thou  art 

To  those  who  have  ended  the  labor,  fulfilling  their 
part; 

And  in  time  shalt  thou  know,  by  inquiry  instructed. 

Who  of  citizens  justly,  and  who  not  to  purpose,  the 
city  conducted, 

AGAMEMNON. 

First,  indeed,  Argos,  and  the  gods,  the  local, 

'T  is  right  addressing  —  those  with  me  the  partners 

In  this  return  and  right  things  done  the  city 

Of  Priamos  :  gods  who,  from  no  tongue  hearing 

The  rights  o'  the  cause,  for  Ilion's  fate  man-slaugh- 

t'rous 
Into  the  bloody  vase,  not  oscillating, 
Put  the  vote-pebbles,  while,  o'  the  rival  vessel, 


54  AGAMEMNON. 

Hope  rose  up  to  the  lip-edge  :  filled  it  was  not, 
By  smoke  the  captured  city  is  still  conspicuous  : 
Atd's  burnt  offerings  live  :  and,  dying  with  them, 
The  ash  sends  forth  the  fulsome  blasts  of  riches. 
Of  these  things,  to  the  gods  grace  many-mindful 
'T  is  right  I  render,  since  both  nets  outrageous 
We  built  them  round  with,  and,  for  sake  of  woman, 
It  did  the  city  to  dust  —  the  Argeian  monster, 
The  horse's  nestling,  the  shield-bearing  people 
That  made  a  leap,  at  setting  of  the  Pleiads, 
And,  vaulting  o'er  the  tower,  the  raw-fiesh-feeding 
Lion  licked  up  his  fill  of  blood  tyrannic. 
I  to  the  gods  indeed  prolonged  this  preface  ; 
But  —  as  for  thy  thought,  I  remember  hearing  — 
I  say  the  same,  and  thou  co-pleader  hast  me. 
Since  few  of  men  this  faculty  is  born  with  — 
Their  friend,  successful,  without  grudge  to  honor. 
For  moody,  on  the  heart,  a  poison  seated 
Its  burthen  doubles  to  who  gained  the  sickness  : 
By  his  own  griefs  he  is  himself  made  heavy. 
And  out-of-door  prosperity  seeing  groans  at. 
Knowing,  I  'd  call  (for  well  have  I  experienced) 
"  Fellowship's  mirror,"  "  phantom  of  a  shadow," 
Those  seeming  to  be  mighty  gracious  to  me : 
While  just  Odusseus  —  he  who  sailed  not  willing  — 
When  joined  on,  was  to  me  the  ready  trace-horse. 
This  of  him,  whether  dead  or  whether  living, 


AGAMEMNON.  55 

I  say.     For  other  city-and-gods'  concernment  — 
Appointing  common  courts,  in  full  assemblage 
We  will  consult.     And  as  for  what  holds  seemly  — 
How  it  may  lasting  stay  well,  must  be  counseled  : 
While  what  has  need  of  medicines  Paionian 
We,  eitlier  burning  or  else  cutting  kindly. 
Will  make  endeavor  pain  to  turn  from  sickness. 
And  now  into  the  domes  and  homes  by  altar 
Going,  I  to  the  gods  first  raise  the  right-hand  — 
They  who,  far  sending,  back  again  have  brought  me. 
And  Victor}',  since  she  followed,  fixed  remain  she  ! 

KLUTAIMNESTRA. 

;Men,  citizens,  Argeians  here,  my  worships ! 
I  shall  not  shame  me,  consort-loving  manners 
To  tell  before  you :  for  in  time  there  dies  off 
The  diffidence  from  people.     Not  from  others 
Learning,  I  of  myself  will  tell  the  hard  life 
I  bore  so  long  as  this  man  was  'neath  I  lion. 
First :  for  a  woman,  from  the  male  divided, 
To  sit  at  home  alone,  is  monstrous  evil  — 
Hearing  the  many  rumors  back-revenging : 
And  for  now  This  to  come,  now  That  bring  after 
Woe,  and  still  worse  woe,  bawling  in  the  household  ! 
And  truly,  if  so  many  wounds  had  chanced 
On  my  husband  here,  as  homeward  used  to  dribble 
Report,  he  's  pierced  more  than  a  net  to  speak  of ! 


$6  AGAMEMNON. 

While,  were  he  dying  (as  the  words  abounded) 

A  triple-bodied  Geruon  the  Second, 

Plent}'  above  —  for  loads  below  I  count  not  — 

Of  earth  a  three-share  cloak  he  'd  boast  of  taking, 

Once  only  dying  in  each  several  figure  ! 

Because  of  such-like  rumors  back-revenging, 

Many  the  halters  from  my  neck,  above  head, 

Others  than  I  loosed  —  loosed  from  neck   by  main 

force  ! 
From  this  cause,  sure,  the  boy  stands  not  beside  me  — 
Possessor  of  our  troth-plights,  thine  and  mine  too  — 
As  ought  Orestes  ;  be  not  thou  astonished ! 
For,  him  brings  up  our  well-disposed  .guest-captive 
Strophios  the  Phokian  —  ills  that  told  on  both  sides 
To  me  predicting  —  both  of  thee  'neath  Ilion 
The  danger,  and  if  anarchy's  mob-uproar 
Thy  council  should  o'erthrow ;  since  it  is  born  with 
Mortals,  —  whoe'er  has  fallen,  the  more  to  kick  him. 
Such  an  excuse,  I  think,  no  cunning  carries  ! 
As  for  myself  —  why,  of  my  wails  the  rushing 
Fountains  are  dried  up  :  not  in  them  a  drop  more  ! 
And  in  my  late-to-bed  eyes  damage  have  I 
Bewailing  what  concerned  thee,  those  torch-holdings 
For  ever  unattended  to.     In  dreams  —  why, 
Beneath  the  light  wing-beats  o'  the  gnat,  I  woke  up 
As  he  went  buzzing — sorrows  that  concerned  thee 
Seeing,  that  filled  more  than  their  fellow-sleep-time. 


AGAMEMNON.  57 

Now,  all  this  having  suffered,  from  soul  grief-free 
I  would  style  this  man  here  the  dog  o'  the  stables, 
The  saviour  forestay  of  the  ship,  the  high  roof's 
Ground-prop,  son  sole-begotten  to  his  father, 

—  Ay,  land  appearing  to  the  sailors  past  hope, 
Loveliest  day  to  see  after  a  tempest, 

To  the  wayfaring-one  athirst  a  well-spring, 

—  The  joy,  in  short,  of  scaping  all  that 's  — fatal ! 
I  judge  him  worth  addresses  such  as  these  are 

—  En\y  stand  off  !  —  for  many  those  old  evils 

We  underwent.     And  now,  to  me  —  dear  headship  !  — 
Dismount  thou  from  this  car,  not  earthward  setting 
The  foot  of  thine,  O  king,  that 's  Ilion's  spoiler ! 
Slave-maids,  why  tarry  ?  —  whose  the  task  allotted 
The  soil  o'  the  road  to  strew  with  carpet-spreadings. 
Immediately  be  purple-strewn  the  pathwa}^, 
So  that  to  home  unhoped  may  lead  him  —  Justice  I 
As  for  the  rest,  care  shall  —  by  no  sleep  conquered  — 
Dispose  things  — justly  (gods  to  aid  !)  appointed. 

AGAMEMNON. 

Offspring  of  Leda,  of  my  household  warder, 
Suitably  to  my  absence  hast  thou  spoken, 
For  long  the  speech  thou  didst  outstretch  !     But  aptly 
To  praise  —  from  others  ought  to  go  this  favor. 
And  for  the  rest,  —  not  me,  in  woman's  fashion. 
Mollify,  nor  —  as  mode  of  barbarous  man  is  — 


58  AGAMEMNON. 

To  me  gape  forth  a  groundward-falling  clamor ! 
Nor,  strewing  it  with  garments,  make  my  passage 
Envied !     Gods,  sure,  with  these  behoves  us  honor  : 
But,  for  a  mortal  on  these  varied  beauties 
To  walk  —  to  me,  indeed,  is  nowise  fear-free, 
I  say  —  as  man,  not  god,  to  me  do  homage  ! 
Apart  from  foot-mats  both  and  varied  vestures, 
Renown  is  loud,  and  —  not  to  lose  one's  senses, 
God's  greatest  gift.     Behoves  us  him  call  happy 
Who  life  has  brought  to  end  in  loved  well-being. 
If  all  things  I  might  manage  thus  —  brave  man,  I  ! 

KLUTAIMNESTRA. 

Come  now,  this  say,  nor  feign  a  feeling  to  me  ! 

AGAMEMNON. 

With  feeling,  know  indeed,  I  do  not  tamper ! 

KLUTAIMNESTRA, 

Vowedst  thou  to  the  gods,  in  fear,  to  act  thus  ? 

AGAMEMNON, 

If  any,  /well  knew  resolve  I  outspoke.  . 

KLUTAIMNESTRA. 

What  think'st  thou  Priamos  had  done,  thus  victor  t 


AGAMEMNON.  59 

AGAMEMNON. 

On  varied  vests  —  I  do  think  —  he  had  passaged. 

KLUTAIMNESTRA. 

Then,  do  not,  struck  with  awe  at  human  censure.  .  .  . 

AGAMEMNON, 

Well,  popular  mob-outcry  much  avails  too  ! 

KLUTAIMNESTRA. 

Ay,  but  the  unenvied  is  not  the  much  valued. 

AGAMEMNON. 

Sure,  't  is  no  woman's  part  to  long  for  battle  ! 

KLUTAIMNESTRA. 

Why,  to  the  prosperous,  even  suits  a  beating ! 

AGAMEMNON. 

What  ?  thou  this  beating  us  in  war  dost  prize  too  ? 

KLUTAIMNESTRA. 

Persuade  thee  !    power,   for   once,  grant  me  —  and 
willing ! 


Co  AGAMEMNON. 

AGAMEMNON. 

But  if  this  seem  so  to  thee  —  shoes,  let  someone 
Loose  under,  quick  —  foot's  serviceable  carriage! 
And  me,  on  these  sea-products  walking,  may  no 
Grudge  from  a  distance,  from  the  god's  eye,  strike  at ! 
For  great  shame  were  my  strewment-spoiling  —  riches 
Spoiling  with  feet,  and  silver-purchased  textures  ! 
Of  these  things,   thus    then.     But  this   female-stran- 
ger 
Tenderly  take  inside  !     Who  conquers  mildly 
God,  from  afar,  benignantly  regardeth. 
For,  willing,  no  one  wears  a  yoke  that 's  servile : 
And  she,  of  many  valuables,  outpicked 
The  flower,  the  army's  gift,  myself  has  followed. 
So,  —  since  to  hear  thee,  I  am  brought  about  thus,  — 
I  go  into  the  palace  —  purples  treading. 

KLUTAIMNESTRA. 

There   is   the    sea  —  and   what    man   shall   exhaust 

it?  — 
Feeding  much  purple's  worth-its-weight-in-silver 
Dye,  ever  fresh  and  fresh,  our  garments'  tincture  ; 
At   home,   such  wealth,  king,   we   begin  —  by  gods' 

help  — 
With  having,  and  to  lack,  the  household  knows  not. 
Of  many  garments  had  I  vowed  a  treading 


AGAMEMNON.  6 1 

(In  oracles  if  fore-enjoined  the  household) 

Of  this  dear  soul  the  safe-return-price  scheming ! 

For,  root  existing,  foliage  goes  up  houses 

Shadow  o'erspreading  against  Seirios  dog-star  ; 

And,  thou  returning  to  the  hearth  domestic, 

Warmth,  yea,  in  winter  dost  thou  show  returning. 

And  when,  too,  Zeus   works,  from    the   green-grape 

acrid. 
Wine  —  then,  already,  cool  in  houses  cometh  ■ — 
The  perfect  man  his  home  perambulating  ! 
Zeus,  Zeus  Perfecter,  these  my  prayers  perfect  thou  ! 
Thy  care  be  —  yea  —  of  things  thou  may'st  make  per- 
fect! 

CHOROS. 

Wherefore  to  me,  this  fear  — 

Groundedly  stationed  here 

Fronting  my  heart,  the  portent-watcher  —  flits  she  ? 

Wherefore  should  prophet-play 

The  uncalled  unpaid  lay, 

Nor  —  having  spat  forth  fear,  like  bad  dreams  —  sits 
she 

On  the  mind's  throne  beloved  —  well-suasive  Bold- 
ness ? 

For  time,  since,  by  a  throw  of  all  the  hands, 

The  boat's  stern-cables  touched  the  sands. 

Has  past  from  youth  to  oldness,  — 

When  under  Ilion  rushed  the  ship-borne  bands. 


62  AGAMEMNON. 

And  from  my  eyes  I  learn  — 

Being  myself  my  witness  —  their  return. 

Yet,  all  the  same,  without  a  lyre,  my  soul, 

Itself  its  teacher  too,  chants  from  within 

Erinus'  dirge,  not  having  now  the  whole 

Of  Hope's  dear  boldness  :  nor  my  inwards  sin  — 

The  heart  that 's  rolled  in  whirls  against  the  mind 

Justly  presageful  of  a  fate  behind. 

But  I  pray  —  things  false,  from  my  hope,  may  fall 

Into  the  fate  that 's  not-fulfilled-at-all ! 

Especially  at  least,  of  health  that 's  great 
The  term  's  insatiable  :  for,  its  weight 
—  A  neighbor,  with  a  common  wall  between  — 
Ever  will  sickness  lean  ; 
And  destiny,  her  course  pursuing  straight. 
Has  struck  man's  ship  against  a  reef  unseen. 
Now,  when  a  portion,  rather  than  the  treasure, 
Fear  casts  from  sling,  with  peril  in  right  measure, 
It  has  not  sunk  —  the  universal  freight, 
(With  misery  freighted  over-full) 
Nor  has  fear  whelmed  the  hull. 
Then  too  the  gift  of  Zeus, 
Two-handedly  profuse, 
Even  from  the  furrows'  yield  for  yearly  use 
Has  done  away  with  famine,  the  disease ; 
But  blood  of  man   to  earth    once  falling,  —  deadly, 
black,  — 


AGAMEMNON.  63 

In  times  ere  these,  — 
Who  may,  by  singing  spells,  call  back  ? 
Zeus  had  not  else  stopped  one  who  rightly  knew 
The  way  to  bring  the  dead  again. 
But,  did  not  an  appointed  Fate  constrain 
The  Fate  from  gods,  to  bear  no  more  than  due, 
My  heart,  outstripping  what  tongue  utters, 
Would  have  all  out :  which   now,   in  darkness,   mut- 
ters 
Moodily  grieved,  nor  ever  hopes  to  find 
How  she  a  word  in  season  may  unwind 
From  out  the  enkindlins:  mind. 


KLUTAIMXESTRA--^ 

Take  thyself  in,  thou  too  —  I  say,  Kassandra  ! 
Since    Zeus  —  not    angrily  —  in    household   placed 

thee 
Partaker  of  hand-sprinklings,  with  the  many 
Slaves  stationed,  his  the  Owner's  altar  close  to. 
Descend  from  out  this  car,  nor  be  high-minded ! 
And  truly  they  do  say  Alkmene's  child  once 
Bore  being  sold,  slaves'  barley-bread  his  living. 
If,  then,  necessity  of  this  lot  o'erbalance, 
Much  is  the  favor  of  old-wealthy  masters  : 
For  those  who,  never  hoping,  made  fine  harvest 
Are  harsh  to  slaves  in  all  things,  beyond  measure. 
Thou  hast  —  with  us  —  such  usage  as  law  warrants. 


64  AGAMEMNON. 


CHOROS. 

To  thee  it  was,  she  paused  plain  speech  from  speaking. 

Being  inside  the  fatal  nets  —  obeying, 

Thou  may'st  obey :  but  thou  may'st  disobey  too  ! 

KLUTAIMNESTRA. 

Why,  if  she  is  not,  in  the  swallow's  fashion. 
An  unknown  and  barbaric  voice  possessed  of, 
I,   with   speech  —  speaking   in   mind's   scope  —  per- 
suade her. 

CHORDS. 

Follow !      The   best  —  as    things   now   stand  —  she 

speaks  of. 
Obey  thou,  leaving  this  thy  car-enthronement ! 

KLUTALMNESTRA. 

Well,  with  this  thing  at  door,  for  me  no  leisure 

To  waste  time  :  as  concerns  the  hearth  mid-naveled, 

Already  stand  the  sheep  for  fireside  slaying 

By  those  who  never  hoped  to  have  such  favor. 

If  thou,  then,  aught  of  this  wilt  do,  delay  not ! 

But  if  thou,  being  witless,  tak'st  no  word  in. 

Speak  thou,  instead  of  voice,  with  hand  as  Kars  do  ! 

CHOROS. 

She  seems  a  plain  interpreter  in  need  of. 

The  stranger  !  and  her  way  —  a  beast's  new-captured! 


AGAMEMNON.  65 

KLUTAIMNESTRA. 

Why,  she  is  mad,  sure,  — hears  her  own  bad  senses,  — 
Who,  while  she  comes,  leaving  a  town  new-captured, 
Yet  knows  not  how  to  bear  the  bit  o'  the  bridle 
Before  she  has  out-frothed  her  bloody  fierceness. 
Not   I  —  throwing   away  more  words  —  will   shamed 
be! 

CHORDS. 

But  I,  —  for  I  compassionate,  —  will  chafe  not. 
Come,  O  unhappy  one,  this  car  vacating. 
Yielding  to  this  necessity,  prove  yoke's  use ! 


KASSANDRA. 


Otototoi,  Gods,  Earth 
Apollon,  Apollon  ! 


CHOROS. 


Why  didst  thou  "  ototoi  "  concerning  Loxias  ? 
Since  he  is  none  such  as  to  suit  a  mourner. 


KASSANDRA. 


Otototoi,  Gods,  Earth,  — 
Apollon,  Apollon ! 


CHOROS. 


Ill-boding  here  again  the  god  invokes  she 
—  Nowise  empowered  in  woes  to  stand  by  helpful. 
5 


66  A  GA  MEMNON. 

KASSANDRA. 

Apollon,  Apollon, 

Guard  of  the  ways,  my  destroyer  ! 

For  thou  hast  quite,  this  second  time,  destroyed  me. 

CHORDS. 

To  prophesy  she  seems  of  her  own  evils  : 
Remains  the  god-gift  to  the  slave-soul  present. 

KASSANDRA. 

Apollon,  Apollon, 

Guard  of  the  ways,  my  destroyer ! 

Ha,  whither  hast  thou  led  me  ?  to  what  roof  now  ? 

CHORDS. 

To  the  Atreidai's  roof  :  if  this  thou  know'st  not, 
I  tell  it  thee,  nor  this  wilt  thou  call  falsehood. 

KASSANDRA. 

How !  How ! 

God-hated,  then  !     Of  many  a  crime  it  knew  — 

Self-slaying  evils,  halters  too  : 

Man's-shambles,  blood-besprinkler  of  the  ground  ! 

CHORDS. 

She  seems  to  be  good-nosed,  the  stranger  :  dog-like, 
She  snuffs  indeed  the  victims  she  will  find  there. 


AGAMEMNON.  6/ 

KASSANDRA. 

How  !  How ! 

By  the  witnesses  here  I  am  certain  now  ! 

These  children  bewailing  their  slaughters  —  flesh 

dressed  in  the  fire 
And  devoured  by  their  sire  ! 

CHOROS. 

Ay,  we  have  heard  of  thy  soothsaying  glory, 
Doubtless :  but  prophets  none  are  we  in  scent  of ! 

KASSANDRA, 

Ah,  gods,  what  ever  does  she  meditate  ? 

What  this  new  anguish  great  ? 

Great  in  the  house  here  she  meditates  ill 

Such  as  friends  cannot  bear,  cannot  cure  it :   and  still 

Off  stands  all  Resistance 

Afar  in  the  distance  ! 

CHOROS, 

Of  these  I  witless  am — these  prophesyings. 

But  those  I  knew :  for  the  whole  city  bruits  them. 

KASSANDRA. 

Ah,  unhappy  one,  this  thou  consummatest? 
Thy  husband,  thy  bed's  common  guest, 


68  agamemn-qn: 

In  the  bath  having  brightened.  .  .  .  How  shall  I  de- 
clare 
Consummation  ?     It  soon  will  be  there  : 
For  hand  after  hand  she  outstretches, 
At  life  as  she  reaches  ! 

CHORDS. 

Nor  yet  I  've  gone  with  thee  !  for  —  after  riddles  — 
Now,  in  blind  oracles,  I  feel  resourceless. 

KASSANDRA. 

Eh,  eh,  papai,  papai, 

What  this,  I  espy  ? 

Some  net  of  Hades  undoubtedly ! 

Nay,  rather,  the  snare 

Is  she  who  has  share 

In  his  bed,  who  takes  part  in  the  murder  there  ! 

But  may  a  revolt  — 

Unceasing  assault  — 

On  the  Race,  raise  a  shout 

Sacrificial,  about 

A  victim  —  by  stoning  — 

For  murder  atoning ! 

CHORDS. 

What  this  Erinus  which  i'  the  house  thou  callest 


AGAMEMNON.  69 

To  raise  her  cry  ?     Not  me  thy  word  enlightens ! 

To  my  heart  has  run 

A  drop  of  the  crocus-dye  : 

Which  makes  for  those 

On  earth  by  the  spear  that  lie, 

A  common  close 

With  life's  descending  sun. 

Swift  is  the  curse  begun  ! 

KASSANDRA. 

How !  How ! 

See  —  see  quick ! 

Keep  the  bull  from  the  cow  ! 

In  the  vesture  she  catching  him,  strikes  him  now 

With  the  black-horned  trick. 

And  he  falls  in  the  water}-  vase  ! 

Of  the  craft-killing  cauldron  I  tell  thee  the  case  ! 

CHORDS. 

I  would  not  boast  to  be  a  topping  critic 

Of  oracles  :  but  to  some  sort  of  evil 

I  liken  these.     From  oracles,  what  good  speech 

To  mortals,  beside,  is  sent  ? 

It  comes  of  their  evils:   these  arts   word-abounding 

that  sing  the  event 
Bring  the  fear  't  is  their  office  to  teach. 


70  AGAMEMNON. 

KASSANDRA. 

Ah  me,  ah  me  — 

Of  me  unhappy,  evil-destined  fortunes  ! 

For  I  bewail  my  proper  woe 

As,  mine  with  his,  all  into  one  I  throw. 

Why  hast  thou  hither  me  unhappy  brought  ? 

—  Unless  that  I  should  die  with  him  — for  nought ! 

What  else  was  sought  ? 

CHOROS. 

Thou  art  some  mind-mazed  creature,  god-possessed  : 

And  all  about  thyself  dost  wail 

A  lay  —  no  lay  ! 

Like  some  brown  nightingale 

Insatiable  of  noise,  who  —  well  away  !  — 

From  her  unhappy  breast 

Keeps  moaning  Itus,  Itus,  and  his  life 

With  evils,  flourishing  on  each  side,  rife. 

KASSANDRA. 

Ah  me,  ah  me, 

The  fate  o'  the  nightingale,  the  clear  resounder ! 

For  a  body  wing-borne  have  the  gods  cast  round  her, 

And  sweet  existence,  from  misfortunes  free  : 

But  for  myself  remains  a  sundering 

With  spear,  the  two-edged  thing  ! 


AGAMEMNON.  7 1 

CHORDS. 

Whence  hast  thou  this  on-rushing  god-involving  pain 

And  spasms  in  vain  ? 

For,  things  that  terrify, 

With  changing  unintelligible  cry 

Thou  strikest  up  in  tune,  yet  all  the  while 

After  that  Orthian  style  ! 

Whence  hast  thou  limits  to  the  oracular  road, 

That  evils  bode  ? 

KASSANDRA. 

Ah  me,  the  nuptials,  the  nuptials  of  Paris,  the  deadly 

to  friends  ! 
Ah  me,  of  Skamandros  the  draught 
Paternal !     There  once,  to  these  ends, 
On  thy  banks  was  I  brought, 
The  unhappy  !     And  now,  by  Kokutos  and  Acheron's 

shore 
I  shall  soon  be,  it  seems,-  these  my  oracles  singing 

once  more ! 

CHOROS. 

Why  this  word,  plain  too  much. 
Hast  thou  uttered  ?     A  babe  might  learn  of  such  ! 
I  am  struck  with  a  bloody  bite — here  under  — 
At  the  fate  woe-wreaking 


72  AGAMEMNON. 

Of  thee  shrill-shrieking  : 

To  me  who  hear  —  a  wonder  ! 

KASSANDRA. 

Ah  me,  the  toils  —  the  toils  of  the  city 

The  wholly  destroyed  :  ah,  pity, 

Of  the  sacrificings  my  father  made 

In  the  ramparts'  aid  — 

Much  slaughter  of  grass-fed  flocks  —  that  afforded  no 

cure 
That  the  city  should  not,  as  it  does  now,  the  burthen 

endure ! 
But  I,  with  the  soul  on  fire. 
Soon  to  the  earth  shall  cast  me  and  expire ! 

CHORDS. 

To  things,  on  the  former  consequent, 

Again  hast  thou  given  vent : 

And  't  is  some  evil-meaning  fiend  doth  move  thee, 

Heavily  falling  from  above  thee. 

To  melodize  thy  sorrows  —  else,  in  singing, 

Calamitous,  death-bringing ! 

And  of  all  this  the  end 

I  am  without  resource  to  apprehend. 

KASSANDRA. 

Well  then,  the  oracle  from  veils  no  longer 


AGAMEMXOiV.  73 

Shall  be  outlooking,  like  a  bride  new-married  : 

But  bright  it  seems,  against  the  sun's  uprisings 

Breathing,  to  penetrate  thee  :  so  as,  wave-like, 

To  wash  against  the  rays  a  woe  much  greater 

Than  this.     I  will  no  longer  teach  by  riddles. 

And  witness,  running  with  me,  that  of  evils 

Done  long  ago,  I  nosing  track  the  footstep  ! 

For,  this  same  roof  here  —  never  quits  a  Choros 

One-voiced,  not  well-tuned  since  no  "  well  "  it  utters  : 

And  truly  having  drunk,  to  get  more  courage, 

Man's  blood  —  the  Komos  keeps  within  the  household 

—  Hard  to  be  sent  outside  —  of  sister  Furies  : 

They  hymn  their  hymn  —  within  the  house  close  sit- 
ting — 
The  first  beginning  curse  :  in  turn  spit  forth  at 
The  Brother's  bed,  to  him  who  spurned  it  hostile. 
Have  I  missed  aught,  or  hit  I  like  a  bowman  ? 
False  prophet  am  I,  —  knock  at  doors,  a  babbler  ? 
Henceforward  witness,  swearing  now,  I  know  not 
By  other's  word  the  old  sins  of  this  household  ! 

CHOROS. 

And  how  should  oath,  bond  honorably  binding, 
Become  thy  cure  ?     No  less  I  wonder  at  thee 

—  That   thou,  beyond  sea  reared,  a  strange-tongued 

city 
Should'st  hit  in  speaking,  just  as  if  thou  stood'st  by  ! 


74  AGAMEMNON. 

KASSANDRA. 

Prophet  Apollon  put  me  in  this  office. 

CHOROS. 

What,  even  though  a  god,  with  longing  smitten  ? 

KASSANDRA. 

At  first,  indeed,  shame  was  to  me  to  say  this. 

CHORDS. 

For,  more  relaxed  grows  everyone  who  fares  well. 

KASSANDRA. 

But  he  was  athlete  to  me  —  huge  grace  breathing ! 

CHORDS. 

Well,  to  the  work  of  children,  went  ye  law's  way  ? 

KASSANDRA. 

Having  consented,  Loxias  I  played  false  to. 

CHORDS. 

Already  when  the  wits  inspired  possessed  of  ? 

KASSANDRA. 

Already  to\N*nsmen  all  their  woes  I  foretold. 


AGAMEMxXOX.  75 

CHORDS. 

How  wast  thou  then  unhurt  by  Loxias'  anger  ? 

KASSANDRA. 

I  no  one  aught  persuaded,  when  I  sinned  thus. 

CHOROS. 

To  us,  at  least,  now  sooth  to  say  thou  seemest. 

KASSAXDR.\. 

Halloo,  Halloo,  ah,  evils  ! 

Again,  straightforward  foresight's  fearful  labor 

Whirls  me,  distracting  with  prelusive  last-lays  ! 

Behold  ye  those  there,  in  the  household  seated,  — 

Young  ones,  — of  dreams  approaching  to  the  figures  ? 

Children,  as  if  they  died  by  their  beloveds  — 

Hands  they  have  filled  with  flesh,  the  meal  domestic  — 

Entrails  and  vitals  both,  most  piteous  burthen. 

Plain  they  are  holding  !  —  which  their  father  tasted  ! 

For  this,  I  say,  plans  punishment  a  certain 

Lion  ignoble,  on  the  bed  that  wallows, 

House-guard  (ah,  me  !)  to  the  returning  master 

—  Mine,  since  to  bear  the  slavish  yoke  behoves  me  ! 

The  ships'  commander,  Ilion's  desolator. 

Knows  not  what  things  the  tongue  of  the  lewd  she-dog 

Speaking,  outspreading,  shiny-souled,  in  fashion 


76  AGAMEMNON. 

Of  Ate  hid,  will  reach  to,  by  ill  fortune  ! 
Such  things  she  dares  —  the  female,  the  male's  slayer! 
She  is  .  .  .  how  calling  her  the  hateful  bite-beast 
May  I  hit  the  mark  ?     Some  amphisbaina  —  Skulla 
Housing  in  rocks,  of  mariners  the  mischief, 
Revelling  Hades'  mother,  —  curse,  no  truce  with,. 
Breathing  at  friends  !     How  piously  she  shouted. 
The  all-courageous,  as  at  turn  of  battle  ! 
She  seems  to  joy  at  the  back-bringing  safety  ! 
Of  this,  too,  if  I  nought  persuade,  all 's  one  !     Why  ? 
What  is  to  be  will  come !     And  soon  thou,  present, 
"  True  prophet  all  too  much  "  wilt  pitying  style  me  ! 

CHOROS. 

Thuestes'  feast,  indeed,  on  flesh  of  children, 

I  went  with,  and  I  shuddered.     Fear  too  holds  me 

Listing  what 's  true  as  life,  nowise  out-imaged  ! 

KASSANDRA. 

I  say,  thou  Agamemnon's  fate  shalt  look  on  ! 

CHORDS. 

Speak  good  words,  O  unhappy  !     Set  mouth  sleeping 

KASSANDRA. 

But  Paian  stands  in  no  stead  to  the  speech  here. 


AGAMEMNON.  JJ 

CHOROS. 
Nay,  if  the  thing  be  near  :  but  never  be  it ! 

KASSANDRA. 

Thou,  indeed,  prayest :  they  to  kill  are  busy  ! 

CHOROS. 

Of  what  man  is  it  ministered,  this  sorrow  ? 

KASSANDRA. 

There  again,  wide  thou  look'st  of  my  foretellings. 

CHOROS. 

For,  the  fulfiller's  scheme  I  have  not  gone  with. 

KASSANDRA. 

And  yet  too  well  I  know  the  speech  Hellenic. 

CHOROS. 

For  Puthian  oracles,  thy  speech,  and  hard  too ! 

KASSANDRA. 

Papai :  what  fire  this  !  and  it  comes  upon  me  ! 
Ototoi,  Lukeion  Apollon,  ah  me  — me  ! 
She,  the  two-footed  lioness  that  sleeps  with 
The  wolf,  in  absence  of  the  generous  lion, 


78  AGAMEMNON. 

Kills  me  the  unhappy  one  :  and  as  a  poison 

Brewing,  to  put  my  price  too  in  the  anger, 

She  vows,  against  her  mate  this  weapon  whetting 

To  pay  him  back  the  bringing  me,  with  slaughter. 

Why  keep  I  then  these  things  to  make  me  laughed  at. 

Both  wands  and,  round  my  neck,  oracular  fillets  ? 

Thee,  at  least,  ere  my  own  fate  will  I  ruin  : 

Go,  to  perdition  falling  !     Boons  exchange  we  — 

Some  other  Ate  in  my  stead  make  wealthy ! 

See  there  —  himself,  Apollon  stripping  from  me 

The  oracular  garment !  having  looked  upon  me 

—  Even  in  these  adornments,  laughed  by  friends  at, 

As  good  as  foes,  i'  the  balance  weighed  :  and  vainly  — 

For,  called  crazed  stroller,  —  as  I  had  been  gipsy, 

Beggar,  unhappy,  starved  to  death,  —  I  bore  it. 

And  now  the  Prophet  —  prophet  me  undoing, 

Has  led  away  to  these  so  deadly  fortunes  ! 

Instead  of  my  sire's  altar,  waits  the  hack-block 

She  struck  with  first  warm  bloody  sacrificing ! 

Yet  nowise  unavenged  of  gods  will  death  be  : 

For  there  shall  come  another,  our  avenger, 

The  mother-slaying  scion,  father's  doomsman  : 

Fugitive,  wanderer,  from  this  land  an  exile, 

Back  shall  he  come,  —  for  friends,  copestone  these 

curses ! 
For  there  is  sworn  a  great  oath  from  the  gods  that 
Him  shall  bring  hither  his  fallen  sire's  prostration. 


AGAMEMNON.  79 

Why  make  I  then,  like  an  indweller,  moaning  ? 
Since  at  the  first  I  foresaw  Ilion's  city 
Suffering  as  it  has  suffered  :  and  who  took  it, 
Thus  by  the  judgment  of  the  gods  are  faring. 
I  go,  will  suffer,  will  submit  to  dying  ! 
But,  Hades'  gates  —  these  same  I  call,  I  speak  to, 
And  pray  that  on  an  opportune  blow  chancing, 
Without  a  struggle,  —  blood  the  calm  death  bringing 
In  easy  outflow,  —  I  this  eye  may  close  up ! 

CHORDS. 

O  much  unhappy,  but,  again,  much  learned  ' 
Woman,  long  hast  thou  outstretched  !     But  if  truly 
Thou  knowest  thine  own  fate,  how  comes  that,  like  to 
A  god-led  steer,  to  altar  bold  thou  treadest  ? 

KASSANDRA. 

There 's  no  avoidance,  —  strangers,  no  !     Some  time 
more ! 

CHOROS. 

He  last  is,  anyhow,  by  time  advantaged- 

KASSANDRA. 

It  comes,  the  day :  I  shall  by  flight  gain  little. 

CHOROS. 

But  know  thou  patient  art  from  thy  brave  spirit ! 


8o  AGAMEMNON. 

K.\SSANDRA. 

Such  things  hears  no  one  of  the  happy-fortuned. 

CHOROS. 

But  gloriously  to  die  —  for  man  is  grace,  sure  ! 

KASSANDRA. 

Ah,  sire,  for  thee  and  for  thy  noble  children ! 

CHOROS. 

But  what  thing  is  it  ?    What  fear  turns  thee  back- 
wards ? 

KASSANDRA. 

Alas,  alas  ! 

CHOROS. 

Why  this  "  Alas  ? "  if  't  is  no  spirit's  loathing.  .  .  . 

KASSANDRA. 

Slaughter  blood-dripping  does  the  household  smell  of  ! 

CHOROS. 

How  else  ?     This  scent  is  of  hearth-sacrifices. 

KASSANDRA. 

Such  kind  of  steam  as  from  a  tomb  is  proper ! 


AGAMEMNON.  8 1 

CHOROS. 
No  Surian  honor  to  the  House  thou  speak'st  of  ! 

KASSANDRA. 

But  I  will  go,  —  even  in  the  household  wailing 
My  fate  and  Agamemnon's.     Life  suffice  me  ! 
Ah,  strangers  ! 

I  cry  not  "  ah  "  —  as  bird  at  bush  —  through  terror 
Idly !  to  me,  the  dead,  bear  witness  this  much : 
When,  for  me  —  woman,  there  shall  die  a  woman, 
And,  for  a  man  ill-wived,  a  man  shall  perish ! 
This  hospitality  I  ask  as  dying. 

CHOROS. 

O  sufferer,  thee  —  thy  foretold  fate  I  pity. 

KASSAXDRA. 

Yet  once  for  all,  to  speak  a  speech,  I  fain  am : 

No  dirge,  mine  for  myself !     The  sun  I  pray  to, 

Fronting  his  last  light  !  —  to  my  own  avengers  — 

That  from  my  hateful  slayers  they  exact  too 

Pay  for  the  dead  slave  —  easy-managed  hand's  work  ! 

CHOROS. 

Alas  for  mortal  matters  !     Happy-fortuned,  — 
Why,  any  shade  would  turn  them  :  if  unhappy, 
6 


82  AGAMEMNON. 

By  throws  the  wetting  sponge  has  spoiled  the  picture  ! 
And  more  by  much  in  mortals  this  I  pity. 
The  being  well-to-do  — 
Insatiate  a  desire  of  this 
Born  with  all  mortals  is, 
Nor  any  is  there  who 
Well-being  forces  off,  aroints 
From  roofs  whereat  a  finger  points, 
"  No  more  come  in  ! "  exclaiming.     This  man,  too, 
To  take  the  city  of  Priamos  did  the  celestials  give, 
And,  honored  by  the  god,  he  homeward  comes  ; 
But  now  if,  of  the  former,  he  shall  pay 
The  blood  back,  and,  for  those  who  ceased  to  live. 
Dying,  for  deaths  in  turn  new  punishment  he  dooms  — 
Who,  being  mortal,  would  not  pray 
With  an  unmischievous 

Daimon  to  have  been  born  —  who  would  not,  hearing 
thus? 

AGAMEMNON. 

Ah  me  !  I  am  struck  —  a  right-aimed  stroke  within  me  ! 

CHORDS. 

Silence  !   Who  is  it  shouts  "  stroke  "  —  "  right-aimed- 
ly  "  a  wounded  one  ? 

AGAMEMNON. 

Ah  me  !  indeed  again,  —  a  second,  struck  by  ! 


AGAMEMNON.  83 

CHOROS. 

This  work  seems  to  me  completed  by  this  "  Ah  me  " 

of  the  king's ; 
But  we  somehow  may  together  share  in  solid  counsel- 
ings. 

CHOROS    I. 

I,  in  the  first  place,  my  opinion  tell  you : 

—  To  cite  the  townsmen,  by  help-cry,  to  house  here. 

CHORDS    2. 

To  me,  it  seems  we  ought  to  fall  upon  them 

At  quickest  —  prove  the  fact  by  sword  fresh-flowing  ! 

CHOROS  3. 

And  I,  of  such  opinion  the  partaker, 

Vote  —  to  do  something  :    not   to  wait  —  the  main 

point  1 

CHOROS  4. 

'T  is  plain  to  see  :  for  they  prelude  as  though  of 
A  t}Tanny  the  signs  they  gave  the  city. 

CHOROS   5. 

For  we  waste  time  ;  while  they,  —  this  waiting's  glory 
Treading  to  ground,  —  allow  the  hand  no  slumber. 


84  AGAMEMNON. 

CHORDS  6. 

I    know    not  —  chancing    on    some    plan  —  to    tell 

it: 
'T  is  for  the  doer  to  plan  of  the  deed  also, 

CHORDS   7. 

And  I  am  such  another:  since  I  'm  schemeless 
How  to  raise  up  again  by  words  —  a  dead  man  ! 

CHORDS   8. 

What,    and,    protracting    life,    shall    we     give    way 

thus 
To  the  disgracers  of  our  home,  these  rulers  ? 

CHORDS  9. 

Why,  't  is  unbearable  :  but  to  die  is  better  : 
For  death  than  tyranny  is  the  riper  finish  ! 

CHORDS    ID. 

What,  by  the  testifying  "  Ah  me  "  of  him. 
Shall  we  prognosticate  the  man  as  perished  ? 

CHORDS    II. 

We  must  quite  know  ere  speak  these  things  concern- 
ing: 
For  to  conjecture  and  "  quite  know  "  are  two  things. 


AGAMEMNON.  85 


CHORDS    12. 

This  same  to  praise  I  from  all  sides  abound  in  — 
Clearly  to  know —  Atreides,  what  he  's  doing  ! 

KLUTAIMNESTRA. 

Much  having  been  before  to  purpose  spoken, 
The  opposite  to  say  I  shall  not  shamed  be  : 
For  how  should  one,  to  enemies,  — in  semblance, 
Friends,  —  enmity  proposing,  —  sorrow's  net-frame 
Enclose,  a  height  superior  to  outleaping  ? 
To  me,  indeed,  this  struggle  of  old  —  not  mindless 
Of  an  old  victor}^ —  came  :  with  time,  I  grant  you  ! 
I    stand   where    I    have  struck,   things  once   accom- 
plished : 
And  so  have  done,  —  and  this  deny  I  shall  not,  — 
As  that  his  fate  was  nor  to  fly  nor  ward  off. 
A  wrap-round  with  no  outlet,  as  for  fishes, 
I  fence  about  him  —  the  rich  woe  of  the  garment : 
I  strike  him  twice,  and  in  a  double  "  Ah-me  !  " 
He  let  his  limbs  go  —  there!    And  to  him,  fallen, 
The  third  blow  add  I,  giving  —  of  Below-ground 
Zeus,  guardian  of  the  dead  —  the  votive  favor. 
Thus  in  the  mind  of  him  he  rages,  falling, 
And  blowing  forth  a  brisk  blood-spatter,  strikes  me 
With  the  dark  drop  of  slaughterous  dew  —  rejoicing 
No  less  than,  at  the  god-given  dewy-comfort. 


86  AGAMEMNON. 

The  sown-stuff  in  its  birth-throes  from  the  calyx. 
Since   so   these   things   are,  —  Argives,    my   revered 

here,  — 
Ye  may  rejoice  —  if  ye  rejoice  :  but  I  —  boast ! 
If  it  were  fit  on  corpse  to  pour  libation, 
That  would  be  right  —  right  over  and  above,  too  ! 
The  cup  of  evils  in  the  house  he,  having 
Filled  with  such  curses,  himself  coming  drinks  of. 

CHOROS. 

We  wonder  at  thy  tongue  :  since  bold-mouthed  truly 
Is  she  who  in  such  speech  boasts  o'er  her  husband  ! 

KLUTAIMNESTRA. 

Ye  test  me  as  I  were  a  witless  woman : 
But  I  —  with  heart  intrepid  —  to  you  knowers 
Say  (and  thou  —  if  thou  wilt  or  praise  or  blame  me. 
Comes  to  the  same)  —  this  man  is  Agamemnon, 
My  husband,  dead,  the  work  of  the  right  hand  here, 
Ay,  of  a  just  artificer  :  so  things  are. 

CHORDS. 

What  evil,  O  woman,  food  or  drink,  earth-bred 
Or  sent  from  the  flowing  sea. 
Of  such  having  fed 
Didst  thou  set  on  thee 
This  sacrifice 


AGAMEMNON.  S^ 

And  popular  cries 

Of  a  curse  on  thy  head  ? 

Off  thou  hast  thrown  him,  oi?  hast  cut 

I'he  man  from  the  city  :  but  — 

Off  from  the  city  thyself  shalt  be 

Cut  —  to  the  citizens 

A  hale  immense ! 

KLUTAIMNESTRA. 

Now,  indeed,  thou  adjudgest  exile  to  me, 
And  citizens'  hate,  and  to  have  popular  curses : 
Nothing  of  this  against  the  man  here  bringing. 
Who,  no  more  awe-checked  than  as  't  were  a  beast's 

fate,  — 
With    sheep    abundant   in    the    well-fleeced    graze- 
flocks,  — 
Sacrificed  /its  child,  —  dearest  fruit  of  travail 
To  me,  —  as  song-spell  against  Threkian  blowings. 
Not  /it'm  did  it  behove  thee  hence  to  banish 
—  Pollution's  penalty  ?     But  hearing  my  deeds 
Justicer  rough  thou  art !     Now,  this  I  tell  thee  : 
To  threaten  thus  —  me,  one  prepared  to  have  thee 
(On  like  conditions,  thy  hand  conquering)  o'er  me 
Rule :  but  if  God  the  opposite  ordain  us. 
Thou  shalt  learn  —  late  taught,  certes  —  to  be  mod' 
est. 


88  AGAMEMNON. 

CHORDS. 

Greatly-intending  thou  art : 

IMuch-mindful,  too,  Iiast  thou  cried 

(Since  thy  mind,  with  its  slaughter-outpouring  part, 

Is  frantic)  that  over  the  eyes,  a  patch 

Of  blood  —  with  blood  to  match  — 

Is  plain  for  a  pride  ! 

Yet  still,  bereft  of  friends,  thy  fate 

Is  —  blow  with  blow  to  expiate  ! 

KLUTAIMXESTRA. 

And  this  thou  hearest  —  of  my  oaths,  just  warrant ! 
By  who  fulfilled  things  for  my  daughter,  Justice, 
Ate,  Erinus,  —  by  whose  help  I  slew  him,  — 
Not  mine  the  fancy  —  Fear  will  tread  my  palace 
So  long  as  on  my  hearth  there  burns  a  fire, 
Aigisthos  as  before  well-caring  for  me  ; 
Since  he  to  me  is  shield,  no  small,  of  boldness. 
Here  does  he  lie  —  outrager  of  this  female, 
Dainty  of  all  the  Chruseids  under  Ilion  ; 
And  she  —  the  captive,  the  soothsayer  also 
And  couchmate  of  this  man,  oracle-speaker. 
Faithful  bed-fellow,  —  ay,  the  sailors'  benches 
They  wore  in  common,  nor  unpunished  did  so. 
Since   he   is  —  thus  !      While,   as   for   her,  —  swan- 
fashion, 


AGAMEMNON.  89 

Her  latest  having  chanted,  —  dying  wailing 

She  lies,  —  to  him,  a  sweetheart :  me  she  brought  to 

My  bed's  by-nicety,  the  whet  of  dalliance. 

CHOROS. 

Alas,  that  some 

Fate  would  come 

Upon  us  in  quickness  — 

Neither  much  sickness 

Neither  bed-keeping  — 

And  bear  unended  sleeping, 

Now  that  subdued 

Is  our  keeper,  the  kindest  of  mood  ! 

Having  borne,  for  a  woman's  sake,  much  strife  — 

By  a  woman  he  withered  from  life  ! 

Ah  me ! 

Law-breaking  Helena  who,  one. 

Hast  many,  so  many  souls  undone 

'Neath  Troia !  and  now  the  consummated 

Much-memorable  curse 

Hast  thou  made  fiower-forth,  red 

With  the  blood  no  rains  disperse, 

That  which  was  then  in  the  House  — 

Strife  all-subduing,  the  woe  of  a  spouse. 

KLUTAIMNESTRA. 

Nowise,  of  death  the  fate  — 


90  AGAMEMNON: 

Burdened  by  these  things —  supplicate  ! 

Nor  on  Helena  turn  thy  wrath 

As  the  man-destroyer,  as  "  she  who  hath, 

Being  but  one, 

Many  and  many  a  soul  undone 

Of  the  men,  the  Danaoi  "  — 

And  wrought  immense  annoy  ! 

CHOROS. 

Daimon,  who  fallest 

Upon  this  household  and  the  double-raced 

Tantalidai,  a  rule,  minded  like  theirs  displaced, 

Thou  rulest  me  with,  now, 

Whose  heart  thou  gallest ! 

And  on  the  body,  like  a  hateful  crow, 

Stationed,  all  out  of  tune,  his  chant  to  chant 

Doth  something  vaunt ! 

KLUTAIMNESTRA. 

Now,  of  a  truth,  hast  thou  set  upright 

Thy  mouth's  opinion,  — 

Naming  the  Sprite, 

The  triply-gross. 

O'er  the  race  that  has  dominion  : 

For  through  him  it  is  that  Eros 

The  carnage-licker 

In  the  belly  is  bred  :  ere  ended  quite 

Is  the  elder  throe  —  new  ichor  ! 


AGAMEMNON.  9 1 

CHORDS. 

Certainly,  great  of  might 

And  heavy  of  wrath,  the  Sprite 

Thou  tellest  of,  in  the  palace 

(Woe,  woe !) 

—  An  evil  tale  of  a  fate 

By  Ate"s  malice 

Rendered  insatiate  I 

Oh,  oh,  — 

King,  king,  how  shall  I  beweep  thee  ? 

From  friendly  soul  what  ever  say  ? 

Thou  liest  where  webs  of  the  spider  o'ersweep  thee ; 

In  impious  death,  life  breathing  away. 

O  me  —  me  ! 

This  couch,  not  free  ! 

By  a  slavish  death  subdued  thou  art, 

From  the  hand,  by  the  two-edged  dart. 

KLUTAIMXESTRA. 

Thou  boastest  this  deed  to  be  mine  : 

But  leave  off  styling  me 

"  The  Agamemnonian  wife  ! " 

For,  showing  himself  in  sign 

Of  the  spouse  of  the  corpse  thou  dost  see, 

Did  the  ancient  bitter  avenging-ghost 

Of  Atreus,  savage  host. 


92  AGA  MEMNON. 

Pay  the  man  here  as  price  — 

A  full-grown  for  the  young  one's  sacrifice. 

CHOROS. 

That  no  cause,  indeed,  of  this  killing  art  thou, 

Who  shall  be  witness-bearer  ? 

How  shall  he  bear  it  —  how  ? 

But  the  sire's  avenging-ghost  might  be  in  the  deed  a 

sharer. 
He  is  forced  on  and  on 
By  the  kin  born  flowing  of  blood, 
— Black  Ares  :  to  where,  having  gone, 
He  shall  leave  off,  flowing  done, 
At  the  frozen-child's-flesh  food. 
King,  king,  how  shall  I  beweep  thee  ! 
From  friendly  soul  what  ever  say  ? 
Thou  liest  where  webs  of  the  spider  o'ersweep  thee. 
In  impious  death,  life  breathing  away. 
Oh,  me  — me  ! 
This  couch  not  free  ! 
By  a  slavish  death  subdued  thou  art. 
From  the  hand,  by  the  two-edged  dart. 

KLUTAIMXESTRA. 

No  death  "  unfit  for  the  free  " 

Do  I  think  this  man's  to  be  : 

For  did  not  himself  a  slavish  curse 


AGAMEMNON.  93 

To  his  household  decree  ? 

But  the  scion  of  him,  myself  did  nurse  — 

That  much-bewailed  Iphigeneia,  he 

Having  done  well  by,  — and  as  well,  nor  worse, 

Been  done  to,  —  let  him  not  in  Hades  loudly 

Bear  himself  proudly ! 

Being  by  sword-destroying  death  amerced 

For  that  sword's  punishment  himself  inflicted  first. 

CHORDS. 

I  at  a  loss  am  left  — 

Of  a  feasible  scheme  of  mind  bereft  — 

Where  I  may  turn  :  for  the  house  is  falling : 

I  fear  the  bloody  crash  of  the  rain 

That  ruins  the  roof  as  it  bursts  amain  : 

The  warning-drop 

Has  come  to  a  stop. 

Destiny  doth  Justice  whet 

For  other  deed  of  hurt,  on  other  whetstones  yet. 

Woe,  earth,  earth  —  would  thou  hadst  taken  7)ie 

Ere  I  saw  the  man  I  see, 

On  the  pallet-bed 

Of  the  silver-sided  bath-vase,  dead ! 

Who  is  it  shall  bury  him,  who 

Sing  his  dirge  t     Can  it  be  true 

That  thou  wilt  dare  this  same  to  do  — 

Having  slain  thy  husband,  thine  own. 


94  •  AGAMEMNON. 

To  make  his  funeral  moan  : 

And  for  the  soul  of  him,  in  place 

Of  his  mighty  deeds,  a  graceless  grace 

To  wickedly  institute  ?     By  whom 

Shall  the  tale  of  praise  o'er  the  tomb 

At  the  god-like  man  be  sent  — 

From  the  truth  of  his  mind  as  he  toils  intent  ? 

KLUTAIMNESTRA. 

It  belongs  not  to  thee  to  declare 

This  object  of  care  ! 

By  us  did  he  fall  —  down  there  ! 

Did  he  die  —  down  there  !  and  down,  no  less, 

We  will  bury  him  there,  and  not  beneath 

The  wails  of  the  household  over  his  death  : 

But  Iphigeneia,  —  with  kindliness,  — ■ 

His  daughter,  —  as  the  case  requires, 

Facing  him  full,  at  the  rapid-flowing 

Passage  of  Groans  shall  —  both  hands  throwing 

Around  him  —  kiss  that  kindest  of  sires  ! 

CHORDS. 

This  blame  comes  in  the  place  of  blame  : 
Hard  battle  it  is  to  judge  each  claim. 
"  He  is  borne  away  who  bears  away : 
And  the  killer  has  all  to  pay." 
And  this  remains  while  Zeus  is  remaining, 


AGAMEMNON.  95 

"  The  doer  shall  suffer  in  time  "  —  for,  such  his  or- 
daining. 
Who  may  cast  out  of  the  House  its  cursed  brood  ? 
The  race  is  to  Ate  glued  ! 

KLUTAIMNESTRA.  , 

Thou  hast  gone  into  this  oracle 

With  a  true  result.     For  me,  then,  —  I  will 

—  To  the  Daimon  of  the  Pleisthenidai 

Making  an  oath  —  with  all  these  things  comply 

Hard  as  they  are  to  bear.     For  the  rest  — 

Going  from  out  this  House,  a  guest. 

May  he  wear  some  other  family 

To  nought,  with  the  deaths  of  kin  by  kin  ! 

And,  —  keeping  a  little  part  of  my  goods,  — 

Wholly  am  I  contented  in 

Having  expelled  from  the  royal  House 

These  frenzied  moods 

The  mutually-murderous. 

AIGISTHOS. 

0  light  propitious  of  day  justice-bringing ! 

1  may  say  truly,  now,  that  men's  avengers. 

The  gods  from  high,  of  earth  behold  the  sorrows  — 
Seeing,  as  I  have,  i'  the  spun  robes  of  the  Erinues, 
This  man  here  lying,  — sight  to  me  how  pleasant !  — 
His  father's  hands'  contrivances  repaying. 


96  AGAMEMNOiY. 

For  Atreus,  this  land's  lord,  of  this  man  father, 
Thuestes,  my  own  father  —  to  speak  clearly  — 
His  brother  too,  —  being  i'  the  rule  contested,  — 
Drove  forth  to  exile  from  both  town  and  household  : 
And,  coming  back,  to  the  hearth  turned,  a  suppliant, 
Wretched  Thuestes  found  the  fate  assured  him 
—  Not  to  die,  bloodying  his  paternal  threshold 
Just  there  :  but  host-wise  this  man's  impious  father 
Atreus,  soul-keenly  more  than  kindly,  — seeming 
To  joyous  hold  a  flesh-day,  —  to  ray  father 
Served  up  a  meal,  the  flesh  of  his  own  children. 
The  feet  indeed  and  the  hands'  top  divisions 
He  hid,  high  up  and  isolated  sitting  : 
But,  their  unshowing  parts  in  ignorance  taking. 
He  forthwith  eats  food  —  as  thou  seest  —  perdition 
To  the  race  :  and  then,  'ware  of  the  deed  ill-omened. 
He  shrieked  O  !  —  falls  back,  vomiting,  from  the  car- 
nage. 
And  fate  on  the  Pelopidai  past  bearing 
He  prays  down  —  putting  in  his  curse  together 
The  kicking  down  o'  the  feast  —  that  so  might  perish 
The  race  of  Pleisthenes  entire  :  and  thence  is 
That  it  is  given  thee  to  see  this  man  prostrate. 
And  I  was  rightly  of  this  slaughter  stitch-man  : 
Since  me,  —  being   third   from  ten,  —  with  my   poor 

father 
He  drives  out  —  being  then  a  babe  in  swathe-bands: 


AGAMEMNON.  97 

But,  grown  up,  back  again  has  justice  brought  me  : 
And  of  this  man  I  got  hold  — being  without-doors  — 
Fitting  together  the  whole  scheme  of  ill-will, 
So,  sweet,  in  fine,  even  to  die  were  to  me, 
Seeing,  as  I  have,  this  man  i'  the  toils  of  justice  ! 

CHOROS. 

Aigisthos,  arrogance  in  ills  I  love  not. 

Dost    thou    say  —  willing,    thou    didst  kill  the    man 

here,  ^ 

And,  alone,  plot  this  lamentable  slaughter  ? 
I  say  —  thy  head  in  justice  will  escape  not 
The   people's   throwing  —  know   that !  —  stones    and 

curses ! 

AIGISTHOS. 

Thou  such  things  soundest  —  seated  at  the  lower 
Oarage  to  those  who  rule  at  the  ship's  mid-bench  ? 
Thou  shalt  know,  being  old,  how  heavy  is  teaching 
To  one  of  the  like  age  —  bidden  be  modest  ! 
But  chains  and  old  age  and  the  pangs  of  fasting 
Stand  out  before  all  else  in  teaching,  —  prophets 
At  souls'-cure  !     Dost  not,  seeing  aught,  see  this  too  ? 
Against  goads  kick  not,  lest  tript-up  thou  suffer ! 

CHORDS, 

Woman,  thou,  —  of  him  coming  new  from  battle 
7 


98  AGAMEMNON. 

Houseguara  —  thy  husband's  bed  the  while  disgrac- 
ing,— 
For  the  Army-leader  didst  thou  plan  this  fate  too  ? 

AIGISTHOS. 

These  words  too  are  of  groans  the  prime-begetters  ! 
Truly  a  tongue  opposed  to  Orpheus  hast  thou  : 
For  he  led  all  things  by  his  voice's  grace-charm, 
But  thou,  upstirring  them  by  these  wild  yelpings, 
Wilt  lead  them  !     Forced,  thou  wilt  appear  the  tamer! 

CHOROS. 

So  —  thou  shalt  be  my  king  then  of  the  Argeians  — 
Who,  not  when  for  this  man  his  fate  thou  plannedst, 
Daredst  to  do  this  deed  —  thyself  the  slayer  ! 

AIGISTHOS. 

For,  to  deceive  him  was  the  wife's  part,  certes  : 

/was  looked  after  —  foe,  ay,  old-begotten  ! 

But  out  of  this  man's  wealth  will  I  endeavor 

To  rule  the  citizens  :  and  the  no-man-minder 

—  Him  will  I  heavily  yoke  —  by  no  means  trace-horse, 

A  corned-up  colt !  but  that  bad  friend  in  darkness. 

Famine  its  housemate,  shall  behold  him  gentle. 

CHOROS. 

Why  then,  this  man  here,  from  a  coward  spirit. 


AGAMEMNON:  99 

Didst  not    thou  slay    thyself?      But,  —  helped,  —  a 

woman, 
The  country's  pest,  and  that  of  gods  o'  the  country, 
Killed  him  !     Orestes,  where  may  he  see  light  now  ? 
That  coming  hither  back,  wdth  gracious  fortune. 
Of  both  these  he  may  be  the  all-conquering  slayer? 

AIGISTHOS. 

But  since  this  to  do  thou  thinkest  —  and  not  talk  — 

thou  soon  shalt  know  ! 
Up  then,  comrades  dear !  the  proper  thing  to  do  — 

not  distant  this  ! 

CHORDS. 

Up  then  !  hilt  in  hold,  his  sword  let  ever^'one  aright 
dispose  ! 

AIGISTHOS. 

Ay,  but  I  myself  too,  hilt  in  hold,  do  not  refuse  to  die  ! 

CHORDS. 

Thou  wilt  die,  thou  say'st,  to  who  accept  it.     We  the 
chance  demand ! 

KLUTAIMNESTRA. 

Nowise,  O  belovedest  of  men,  may  we  do  other  ills  ! 
To  have  reaped  away  these,  even,  is  a  harvest  much 
to  me  1 


lOO  AGAMEMNON. 

Go,  both  thou  and  these  the  old  men,  to  the  homes 
appointed  each, 

Ere  ye  suffer !  It  behoved  one  do  these  things  just 
as  we  did : 

And  if  of  these  troubles,  there  should  be  enough  — 
we  may  assent 

—  By  the  Daimon's  heavy  heel  unfortunately  stricken 
ones  ! 

So  a  woman's  counsel  hath  it  —  if  one  judge  it  learn- 
ing-worth. 

AIGISTHOS. 

But  to  think  that  these  at  me  the  idle  tongue  should 
thus  o'er-bloom, 

And  throw  out  such  words  —  the  Daimon's  power  ex- 
perimenting on  — 

And,  of  modest  knowledge  missing,  —  me,  the 
ruler,  .  .  . 

CHOROS. 

Ne'er  may  this  befall  Argeians  —  wicked  man  to  fawn 
before ! 

AIGISTHOS. 

Anyhow,  in  after  days,  will  I,  yes,  T,  be  at  thee  yet ! 

CHORDS. 

Not  if  hither  should  the  Daimon  make  Orestes 
straightway  come  ! 


AGAMEMNON.  lOI 

AIGISTHOS. 

O,  I  know,  myself,  that  fugitives  on  hopes  are  pas- 
ture-fed ! 

CHOROS. 

Do  thy  deed,  get  fat,  defiling  justice,  since  the  power 
is  thine  ! 

AIGISTHOS. 

Know  that  thou   shalt  give   me   satisfaction  for  this 
folly's  sake  ! 

CHOROS. 

Boast  on,  bearing  thee  audacious,  like  a  cock  his  fe- 
males by ! 

KLUTAIMNESTRA. 

Have  not  thou  respect  for  these  same  idle  yelpings  ! 

I  and  thou 
Will  arrange  it,  ruling  o'er  this  household  excellently 

well. 


LA   SAISIAZ. 


DEDICATED 


MRS.    SUTHERLAND    ORR. 


I. 


Good,  to  forgive ; 

Best,  to  forget ! 

Living,  we  fret ; 
Dying,  we  live. 
Fretless  and  free, 

Soul,  clap  thy  pinion  ! 

Earth  have  dominion, 
Body,  o'er  thee ! 


Wander  at  will, 
Day  after  day,  — 
Wander  away. 
Wandering  still  — 
Soul  that  canst  soar  ! 
Body  may  slumber : 
Body  shall  cumber 
Soul-flight  no  more. 

3- 

Waft  of  soul's  wing  ! 
What  lies  above  ? 


Sunshine  and  Love, 
Skyblue  and  Spring  ! 
Body  hides  —  where  ? 
Ferns  of  all  feather, 
Mosses  and  heather, 
Yours  be  the  care  ! 


LA   SAISIAZ. 

A.  E.  S.     September  14.  1S77. 

Dared  and  done  :  at  last  I  stand  upon  the  summit, 
Dear  and  Time  ! 

Singly  dared  and  done  ;  the  climbing  both  of  us  were 
bound  to  do. 

Petty  feat  and  yet  prodigious  :  ever}-  side  my  glance 
was  bent 

O'er  the  grandeur  and  the  beauty  lavished  through 
the  whole  ascent. 

Ledge  by  ledge,  out  broke  new  marvels,  now  minute 
and  now  immense  : 

Earth's  most  exquisite  disclosure,  heaven's  own  God 
in  evidence  ! 

And  no  berry  in  its  hiding,  no  blue  space  in  its  out- 
spread. 

Pleaded  to  escape  my  footstep,  challenged  my  emerg- 
ing head, 


I08  LA   SAISIAZ. 

(As  I   climbed  or   paused   from   climbing,   now  o'er- 

branched  by  shrub  and  tree, 
Now  built  round  by  rock  and  boulder,  now  at  just  a 

turn  set  free. 
Stationed  face    to    face  with  —  Nature?    rather  with 

Infinitude) 

—  No  revealment  of   them  all,  as  singly  I  my  path 

pursued, 
But  a  bitter    touched  its  sweetness,  for  the  thought 

stung  "  Even  so 
Both  of  us  had  loved  and  wondered  just  the  same, 

five  days  ago  !  " 
Five  short  days,  sufficient  hardly  to  entice,  from  out  its 

den 
Splintered   in    the    slab,  this  pink   perfection   of   the 

cyclamen  ; 
Scarce  enough  to  heal  and  coat  with  ariber  gum  the 

sloe-tree's  gash. 
Bronze  the  clustered  wilding  apple,  red  J  en  ripe  the 

mountain-ash  : 
Yet  of  might  to  place  between  us — Oh  the  barrier! 

Yon  Profound 
Shrinks   beside  it,    proves  a  pin-point :    barrier   this, 

without  a  bound  ! 
Boundless  though  it  be,  I  reach  you  :  somehow  seem 

to  have  you  here 

—  Who  are  there.     Yes,  there   you  dwell    now,  plain 

the  four  low  walls  appear  ; 


LA   SAISTAZ.  109 

Those  are  vineyards,  they  enclose  from  ;  and  the  little 

spire  which  points 
—  That's   Collonge,  henceforth  your  dwelling!     All 

the  same,  howe'er  disjoints 
Past  from  present,  no  less  certain  you  are  here,  not 

there  :  have  dared. 
Done  the  feat  of  mountain-climbing, — five  days  since, 

we  both  prepared 
Daring,  doing,  arm  in  arm,  if  other  help  should  haply 

fail. 
For  you  asked,  as  forth  we  sallied  to  see  sunset  from 

the  vale, 
"  Why  not  try  for  once  the  mountain,  —  take  a  fore- 
taste, snatch  by  stealth 
Sight  and  sound,  some  unconsidered  fragment  of  the 

hoarded  wealth  ? 
Six  weeks  at  its  base,  yet  never  once  have  we  together 

won 
Sight  or  sound  by  honest  climbing  :  let  us  two  have 

dared  and  done 
Just  so  much  of  twilight  journey  as  may  prove  to-mor- 
row's jaunt 
Not  the  only  mode  of  wayfare  —  wheeled  to  reach  the 

eagle's  haunt !  " 
So,  we  turned  from  the  low  grass-path  you  were  pleased 

to  call  "your  own," 
Set  our  faces  to  the  rose-bloom  o'er  the  summit's  front 

of  stone 


no  LA   SAISIAZ. 

Where  Saleve  obtains,  from  Jura  and  the  sunken  sun 
she  hides, 

Due  return  of  bkishing  "  Good  Night,"  rosy  as  a  borne- 
off  bride's, 

For  his  masculine  "  Good  Morrow  "  when,  with  sun- 
rise still  in  hold. 

Gay  he  hails  her,  and,  magnific,  thrilled  her  black 
length  burns  to  gold. 

Up  and  up  we  went,  how  careless  —  nay.  how  joy 
ous  !     All  was  new, 

I'VU  was  strange.  "  Call  progress  toilsome  ?  that  we  re 
just  insulting  you ! 

How  the  trees  must  temper  noontide !  Ah,  the  thick- 
et's sudden  break  ! 

What  will  be  the  morning  glory,  when  at  dusk  thus 
gleams  the  lake  1 

Light  by  light  puts  forth  Genev^a  :  what  a  land  —  and, 
of  the  land. 

Can  there  be  a  lovelier  station  than  this  spot  where 
now  we  stand  ? 

Is  it  late,  and  wrong  to  linger.''  True,  to-morrow 
makes  amends. 

Toilsome  progress  ?  child's  play,  call  it  —  specially 
when  one  descends  ! 

There,  the  dread  descent  is  over  —  hardly  our  adven- 
ture, though  ! 

Take  the  vale  where  late  we  left  it,  pace  the  grass- 
path,  'mine,'  you  know  ! 


LA   SAISJAZ.  Ill 

Proud  completion  of  achievement !  "     And   we  paced 

it,  praising  still 
That  soft  tread  on  velvet  verdure  as  it  wound  through 

hill  and  hill  ; 
And  at  very  end  there  met  us,  coming  from  Collonge, 

the  pair 
—  All  our  people  of  the  Chalet  —  two,  enough  and 

none  to  spare. 
So,  we  made  for  home  together,  and  we  reached  it  as 

the  stars 
One  by  one  came   lamping  —  chiefly  that   prepotency 

of  IMars  — 
And  your  last  word  was  "  I  owe  you  this  enjoyment !  " 

—  met  with  "  Nay  : 
With   yourself   it   rests  to  have  a  month    of   morrows 

like  to-day  !  " 
Then  the  meal,  with  talk  and  laughter,  and  the  news 

of  that  rare  nook 
Yet  untroubled  by  the  tourist,  touched  on  by  no  travel- 
book, 
All  the  same  —  though  latent  —  patent,  hybrid  birth 

of  land  and  sea, 
And  (our  travelled  friend  assured  you)  —  if  such  mir- 
acle might  be  — 
Comparable  for  completeness  of  both   blessings  —  all 

around 
Nature,  and,  inside  her  circle,  safety  from  world's  sight 

and  sound  — 


112  LA   SAISIAZ. 

Comparable  to  our  Saisiaz.     "  Hold  it  fast  and  guard 

it  well ! 
Go  and  see  and  vouch  for  certain,  then  come  back 

and  never  tell 
Living  soul  but  us ;  and  hapl}-,  prove    our  sky  from 

cloud  as  clear, 
There  may  we   four  meet,  praise  fortune  just  as  now, 

another  year  !  " 
Thus  you  charged  him  on  departure  :  not  without  the 

final  charge 
"  Mind  to-morrow's   early   meeting !     We  must  leave 

our  journey  marge 
Ample  for  the  wayside  wonders  :  there 's  the  stoppage 

at  the  inn 
Three-parts  up  the  mountain,  where  the  hardships  of 

the  track  begin  ; 
There  's  the  convent  worth  a  visit ;  but,  the  triumph 

crowning  all  — 
There 's  Saleve's    own    platform   facing   glory   which 

strikes  greatness  small, 
—  Blanc,  supreme  above  his  earth-brood,  needles  red 

and  white  and  green, 
Horns  of  silver,  fangs  of   crj-stal    set  on   edge   in   his 

demense. 
So,  some  three  weeks  since,  we  saw  them  :    so,   to- 
morrow we  intend 
Vou  shall  see  them  likewise  ;  therefore  Good  Xight 

till  to-morrow,  friend  !  " 


LA   SAISIAZ.  113 

Last,  the  nothings  that  extinguish  embers  of  a  vivid 

day: 
"What  might  be  the  Marshal's  next  move,  what  Gam- 

betta's  counter-play," 
Till  the  landing  on  the  staircase  saw  escape  the  latest 

spark  : 
"  Sleep  you  well  !  "      "  Sleep  but  as  w^ell,  you  !  "  — 

lazy  love  quenched,  all  was  dark. 

Nothing  dark  next  day  at  sundawn  !     Up  I  rose  and 

forth  I  fared  : 
Took   my  plunge  within   the  bath-pool,  pacified  the 

watch-dog  scared, 
Saw  proceed  the  transmutation  —  Jura's  black  to  one 

gold  glow. 
Trod  your  level  path  that  let  me  drink  the  morning 

deep  and  slow, 
Reached  the  little  quarry  —  ravage  recompensed  by 

shrub  and  fern  — 
Till    the   overflowing   ardors  told   me   time   was   for 

return. 
So,  return  I  did,  and  gayly.    But,  for  once,  from  no  far 

mound 
Waved  salute  a  tall  white  figure.      "  Has  her  sleep 

been  so  profound  ? 
Foresight,  rather,  prudent  saving  strength  for  day's 

expenditure  ! 


114  ^^   SAISIAZ. 

Ay,  the  chamber-window 's  open  :  out  and  on  the  ter- 
race, sure !  " 

No,  the  terrace  showed  no  figure,  tall,  white,  leaning 
through  the  wreaths, 

Tangle-twine  of  leaf  and  bloom  that  intercept  the  air 
one  breathes, 

Interpose  between  one's  love  and  Nature's  loving,  hill 
and  dale 

Down  to  where  the  blue  lake's  wrinkle  marks  the 
river's  inrush  pale 

—  Mazy  Arve  :  whereon  no  vessel  but   goes  sliding 

white  and  plain, 
Not  a  steam-boat   pants  from  harbor  but  one  hears 

pulsate  amain. 
Past  the  city's  congregated  peace  of  homes  and  pomp 

of  sjDires 

—  Man's  mild    protest  that  there  's  something  more 

than  Nature,  man  requires. 

And  that,  useful  as  is  Nature  to  attract  the  tourist's 
foot, 

Quiet  slow  sure  money-making  proves  the  matter's 
very  root,  — 

Need  for  body, — while  the  spirit  also  needs  a  com- 
fort reached 

By  no  help  of  lake  or  mountain,  but  the  texts  whence 
Calvin  preached. 


LA   SAISIAZ.  115 

"  Here  's  the  veil  withdrawn  from  landscape  :  up  to 
Jura  and  beyond, 

All  awaits  us  ranged  and  ready ;  yet  she  violates  the 
bond, 

Neither  leans  nor  looks  nor  listens  :  why  is  this  ?  " 
A  turn  of  eye 

Took  the  whole  sole  answer,  gave  the  undisputed  rea- 
son "why!  " 

This  dread  way  you  had  your  summons  !  No  pre- 
monitory touch, 

As  you  talked  and  laughed  ('t  is  told  me)  scarce  a 
minute  ere  the  clutch 

Captured  you  in  cold  forever.  Cold  ?  nay,  warm  you 
were  as  life 

When  I  raised  you,  while  the  others  used,  in  passion- 
ate poor  strife, 

All  the  means  that  seemed  to  promise  any  aid,  and  all 
in  vain. 

Gone  you  were,  and  I  shall  never  see  that  earnest 
face  again 

Grow  transparent,  grow  transfigured  with  the  sudden 
light  that  leapt. 

At  the  first  word's  provocation,  from  the  heart-deeps 
where  it  slept. 

Therefore,  paying  piteous  duty,  what  seemed  you  have 
we  consigned 

Peacefully  to  —  what  I  think  were,  of  all  earth-beds, 
to  your  mind 


Il6  LA  SAISIAZ. 

Most  the  choice  for  quiet,  yonder  :  low  walls  stop  the 

vines'  approach, 
Lovingly  Saleve  protects  you  ;  village-sports  will  ne'er 

encroach 
On  the  stranger  lady's  silence,  whom  friends  bore  so 

kind  and  well 
Thither  "just  for  love's  sake,"  —  such  their  own  word 

was  :  and  who  can  tell  ? 
You  supposed  that  few  or  none  had  known  and  loved 

you  in  the  world  : 
May  be  !  flower  that 's  full-blown  tempts  the  butterfly, 

not  flower  that 's  furled. 
But   more   learned  sense  unlocked   you,    loosed   the 

sheath  and  let  expand 
Bud  to  bell  and  outspread  flower-shape  at  the  least 

warm  touch  of  hand 
—  May  be,  throb  of  heart,  beneath  which,  —  quicken- 
ing farther  than  it  knew,  — 
Treasure  oft  was  disembosomed,  scent  all  strange  and 

unguessed  hue. 
Disembosomed,    reembosomed,  —  must  one   memory 

suffice. 
Prove  I  knew  an  Alpine-rose  which  all  beside  named 

Edelweiss  ? 

Rare   thing,  red  or  white,  you   rest  now:    two  days 
slumbered  through  ;  and  since 


LA  SAISIAZ.  117 

One  day  more  will  see  me  rid  of   this  same  scene 

whereat  I  wince, 
Tetchy  at  all  sights  and  sounds  and  pettish  at  each 

idle  charm 
Proffered  me  who  pace  now  singly  where  we  two  went 

arm  in  arm,  — 
I  have  turned  upon  my  weakness  :  asked  "  And  what, 

forsooth,  prevents 
That,  this  latest  day  allowed  me,  I  fulfil  of  her  intents 
One  she  had  the  most  at  heart  —  that  we  should  thus 

again  survey 
From  Saleve  Mont  Blanc  together  ? "     Therefore,  — 

dared  and  done  to-day 
Climbing,  —  here  I  stand :  but  you  —  where  ? 

If  a  spirit  of  the  place 

Broke  the  silence,  bade  me  question,  promised  an- 
swer, —  what  disgrace 

Did  I  stipulate  "  Provided  answer  suit  my  hopes,  not 
fears  !  " 

Would  I  shrink  to  learn  my  life-time's  limit  —  days, 
weeks,  months  or  years  ? 

Would  I  shirk  assurance  on  each  point  whereat  I  can 
but  guess  — 

"  Does  the  soul  survive  the  body  ?  Is  there  God's 
self,  no  or  yes  ?  " 


Il8  LA   SAISIAZ. 

If  I  know  my  mood,  't  were  constant  —  come  in  what- 

so'er  uncouth 
Shape  it  should,  naj',  formidable  —  so  the  answer  were 

but  truth. 

Well,  and  wherefore  shall  it  daunt  me,  when  't  is  I 

myself  am  tasked, 
When,    by   weakness    weakness     questioned,    weakly 

answers  —  weakly  asked  ? 
Weakness  never  needs  be  falseness  :  truth  is  truth  in 

each  degree 
—  Thunderpealed  by   God   to    Nature,  whispered  by 

my  soul  to  me. 
Nay,  the  weakness  turns  to  strength  and  triumphs  in 

a  truth  beyond  : 
"]\Iine  is  but  man's  truest  answer  —  how  were  it  did 

God  respond  ? " 
I  shall  no  more  dare  to  mimic  such  response  in  futile 

speech. 
Pass  off  human  lisp  as  echo  of  the  sphere-song  out  of 

reach. 
Than,  —  because  it  well  may  happen  yonder,  where 

the  far  snows  blanch 
]\Iute  Mont  Blanc,  that   who   stands  near   them   sees 

and  hears  an  avalanche,  — 
I  shall  pick  a  clod  and  throw,  — zvj  "Such  the  sight 

and  such  the  sound  ! 


LA   SAISIAZ.  119 

What  though  I  nor  see  nor  hear  them  ?  Others  do, 
the  proofs  abound  !  " 

Can  I  make  my  eye  an  eagle's,  sharpen  ear  to  recog- 
nize 

Sound  o'er  league  and  league  of  silence  ?  Can  I 
know,  who  but  surmise  ? 

If  I  dared  no  self-deception  when,  a  week  since,  I  and 
you 

Walked  and  talked  along  the  grass-path,  passing  light- 
ly in  review 

What  seemed  hits  and  what  seemed  misses  in  a  cer- 
tain fence-play,  —  strife 

Sundry  minds  of  mark  engaged  in  "  On  the  Soul  and 
Future  Life,"  — 

If  I  ventured  estimating  what  was  come  of  parried 
thrust. 

Subtle  stroke,  and,  rightly,  wrongly,  estimating  could 
be  just 

—  Just,  though  life  so  seemed  abundant  in  the  form 
which  moved  by  mine, 

I  might  well  have  played  at  feigning,  fooling,  — 
laughed  "  What  need  opine 

Pleasure  must  succeed  to  pleasure  else  past  pleasure 
turns  to  pain, 

And  this  first  life  claims  a  second,  else  I  count  its 
good  no  gain  ?  "  — 

Much  less  have  I  heart  to  palter  when  the  matter  to 
decide 


120  LA  SAISIAZ. 

Now  becomes  "  Was  ending  ending  once  and  always, 

when  you  died  ?  " 
Did  the  face,  the  form  I  lifted  as  it  lay,  reveal  the 

loss 
Not  alone  of  life  but  soul  ?     A   tribute  to  yon   flowers 

and  moss. 
What  of  you  remains  beside  ?     A  memory  !     Easy  to 

attest 
"  Certainly  from  out  the  world  that  one  believes  who 

knew  her  best 
Such  was  good  in  her,  such  fair,  which  fair  and  good 

were  great  perchance 
Had   but   fortune   favored,  bidden    each    shy   faculty 

advance ; 
After  all — who  knows  another?     Only  as  I  know,  I 

speak." 
So  much  of  you  lives  within  me  while  I  live  my  year 

or  week. 
Then  my  fellow  takes  the  tale  up,  not  unwilling  to 

aver 
Duly  in  his  turn  "  I  knew  him  best  of  all,  as  he  knew 

her  : 
Such  he  was,  and  such  he  was  not,  and  such  other 

might  have  been 
But  that   somehow   every   actor,    somewhere    in   this 

earthly  scene. 
Fails."     And  so  both  memories  dwindle,  yours   and 

mine  together  linked, 


LA  SAISIAZ.  121 

Till  there  is  but  left  for  comfort,  when  the  last  spark 

proves  extinct, 
This  —  that  somewhere  new  existence  led  by  men  and 

women  new 
Possibly  attains  perfection  coveted  by  me  and  you  ; 
While  ourselves,  the  only  witness  to  what  work  our 

life  evolved, 
Only  to  ourselves  proposing  problems  proper  to  be 

solved 
By  ourselves  alone, — who  working  ne'er  shall   know 

if  work  bear  fruit 
Others  reap  and  garner,  heedless  how  produced  by 

stalk  and  root, — 
We  who,  darkling,  timed  the  day's  birth,  —  struggling, 

testified  to  peace,  — 
Earned,   by  dint   of  failure,   triumph.  —  we,   creative 

thought,  must  cease 
In  created  word,  thought's  echo,  due  to  impulse  long 

since  sped  ! 
Why  repine  ?     There 's  ever  some  one  lives  although 

ourselves  be  dead ! 
Well,  what  signifies  repugnance  ?     Truth  is  truth  how- 

e'er  it  strike. 
Fair  or  foul  the  lot  apportioned  life  on  earth,  we  bear 

alike. 
Stalwart   body  idly  yoked  to   stunted  spirit,  powers, 

that  fain 


122  LA   SAISIAZ. 

Else   would   soar,  condemned   to  grovel,  groundlings 
through  the  fleshly  chain,  — 

Help  that  hinders,  hindrance  proved  but   help   dis- 
guised when  all  too  late,  — 

Hindrance  is   the   fact   acknowledged,    howso'er   ex- 
plained as  Fate, 

Fortune,    Providence  :    we   bear,    own   life  a  burthen 
more  or  less. 

Life  thus  owned  unhappy,  is  there  supplemental  hap- 
piness 

Possible  and  probable  in  life  to  come  ?  or  must  we 
count 

Life  a  curse  and  not   a  blessing,  summed-up  in    its 
whole  amount, 

Help  and  hindrance,  joy  and  sorrow  ? 

Why  should  I  want  courage  here  ? 

I  will  ask  and  have  an  answer,  —  with  no  favor,  with 
no  fear,  — 

From  myself.     How  much,  how  little,  do  I  inwardly 
believe 

True  that  controverted  doctrine  ?     Is  it  fact  to  which 
I  cleave. 

Is  it  fancy  I  but  cherish,  when  I  take  upon  my  lips 

Phrase  the  solemn  Tuscan  fashioned,  and  declare  the 
soul's  eclipse 

Not  the  soul's  extinction  ?  take  his  "  I  believe  and  I 
declare  — 


LA  SAISIAZ.  123 

Certain  am  I  —  from  this  life  I  pass  into  a  better, 

there 
Where  that  lady  lives  of  whom   enamored  was   my 

soul  "  —  where  this 
Other  lady,  my  companion  dear  and  true,  she  also  is  ? 

I  have  questioned  and  am  answered.  Question,  an- 
swer presuppose 

Two  points  :  that  the  thing  itself  which  questions,  an- 
swers, —  is,  it  knows  ; 

As  it  also  knows  the  thing  perceived  outside  itself,  — 
a  force 

Actual  ere  its  own  beginning,  operative  through  its 
course. 

Unaffected  by  its  end,  —  that  this  thing  likewise 
needs  must  be  ; 

Call  this  —  God,  then,  call  that  —  soul,  and  both  — 
the  only  facts  for  me. 

Prove  them  facts  ?  that  they  o'erpass  my  power  of 
proving,  proves  them  such  : 

Fact  it  is  I  know  I  know  not  something  which  is  fact 
as  much. 

What  before  caused  all  the  causes,  what  effect  of  all 
effects 

Haply  follows,  —  these  are  fancy.  Ask  the  rush  if  it 
suspects 

Whence  and  how  the  stream  which  floats  it  had  a  rise, 
and  where  and  how 


124  -^^   SAISIAZ. 

Falls  or  flows  on  still !     What  answer  makes  the  rush 

except  that  now 
Certainly  it  floats  and  is,  and,  no  less  certain  than 

itself. 
Is  the   everyway  external   stream  that   now  through 

shoal  and  shelf 
Floats  it  onward,  leaves  it — may  be  —  wrecked  at 

last,  or  lands  on  shore 
There   to  root   again   and   grow  and  flourish    stable 

evermore. 
—  May  be  !  mere  surmise  not  knowledge  :  much  con- 
jecture styled  belief, 
What  the  rush  conceives  the  stream  means  through 

the  voyage  blind  and  brief. 
Why,  because  I  doubtless  am,  shall  I  as  doubtless  be  ? 

"  Because 
God  seems  good  and  wise."     Yet  under  this  our  life's 

apparent  laws 
Reigns  a  wrong  which,  righted  once,  would  give  quite 

other  laws  to  life. 
"  He  seems   potent."      Potent   here,  then  :  why  are 

right  and  wrong  at  strife  ? 
Has  in  life  the  wrong  the  better  ?     Happily  life  ends 

so  soon  ! 
Right  predominates  in  life  ?     Then  why  two  lives  and 

double  boon  ? 
"  Anyhow,  we  want  it :  wherefore  want  ? "     Because, 

without  the  want, 


LA   SAISIAZ.  125 

Life,  now  human,  would  be  brutish  :  just  that  hope, 
however  scant. 

Makes  the  actual  life  worth  leading  ;  take  the  hope 
therein  away. 

All  we  have  to  do  is  surely  not  endure  another  day. 

This  life  has  its  hopes  for  this  life,  hopes  that  promise 
joy  :  life  done  — 

Out  of  all  the  hopes,  how  many  had  complete  fulfil- 
ment ?  none. 

"  But  the  soul  is  not  the  body  : "  and  the  breath  is 
not  the  flute  ; 

Both  together  make  the  music  :  either  marred  and  all 
is  mute. 

Truce  to  such  old  sad  contention  whence,  according 
as  we  shape 

Most  of  hope  or  most  of  fear,  we  issue  in  a  half- 
escape  : 

"  We  believe  "  is  sighed.  I  take  the  cup  of  comfort 
proffered  thus. 

Taste  and  try  each  soft  ingredient,  sweet  infusion,  and 
discuss 

What  their  blending  may  accomplish  for  the  cure  of 
doubt,  till  —  slow, 

Sorrowful,  but  how  decided  !  needs  must  I  o'ertum  it 
—  so  ! 

Cause  before,  effect  behind  me  —  blanks  !  The  mid- 
way point  I  am, 


126  LA   SAISIAZ. 

Caused,  itself — itself  efficient:  in  that  narrow  space 

must  cram 
All  experience  —  out  of  which  there  crowds  conjecture 

manifold, 
But,  as  knowledge,  this  comes  only  —  things  may  be 

as  I  behold, 
Or  may  not  be,  but,  without  me  and  above  me,  things 

there  are ; 
I   myself  am  what   I   know   not  —  ignorance   which 

proves  no  bar 
To  the  knowledge  that  I  am,  and,  since  I  am,  can 

recognize 
What  to  me  is  pain  and  pleasure :  this  is  sure,  the  rest 

—  surmise. 
If  my  fellows  are  or  are  not,  what  may  please  them 

and  what  pain,  — 
Mere  surmise :   my  own  experience  —  that  is  knowl- 
edge, once  again  ! 

I   have   lived,    then,    done   and   suffered,  loved   and 

hated,  learnt  and  taught 
This  —  there  is  no  reconciling  wisdom  with  a  world 

distraught, 
Goodness  with  triumpharrt  evil,  power  with  failure  in 

the  aim, 
If  —  (to  my  own  sense,  remember  !  though  none  other 

feel  the  same  !)  — 


LA   SAISIAZ.  127 

If  you  bar  me  from  assuming  earth  to  be  a  pupil's 

place, 
And  life,  time,  —  with  all  their  chances,  changes, — 

just  probation-space, 
Mine,  for  me.     But  those  apparent  other  mortals  — 

theirs,  for  them  ? 
Knowledge  stands  on  my  experience  :  all  outside  its 

narrow  hem. 
Free   surmise   may  sport  and  welcome  !     Pleasures, 

pains  affect  mankind 
Just  as  they  affect  myself  ?    Why,  here  's  my  neighbor 

color-blind. 
Eyes  like  mine  to  all  appearance  :  "  green  as  grass  " 

do  I  affirm  ? 
"Red  as  grass"  he  contradicts  me  —  which  employs 

the  proper  term  ? 
Were  we  two  the  earth's  sole  tenants,  with  no  third 

for  referee. 
How  should  I  distinguish  ?    Just  so,  God  must  judge 

'twixt  man  and  me. 
To  each  mortal   perad venture  earth  becomes  a  new 

machine, 
Pain  and  pleasure  no  more  tally  in  our  sense  than  red 

and  green  ; 
Still,  without  what  seems  such  mortal's  pleasure,  pain, 

my  life  were  lost 
—  Life,  my  whole  sole  chance  to  prove  —  although  at 

man's  apparent  cost  — 


128  LA  SAISIAZ. 

What  is  beauteous  and  what  ugly,  right  to  strive  for, 
right  to  shun, 

Fit  to  help  and  fit  to  hinder,  — prove  my  forces  every- 
one, 

Good  and  evil,  —  learn  life's  lesson,  hate  of  evil,  love 
of  good. 

As  't  is  set  me,  understand  so  much  as  may  be  under- 
stood — 

Solve  the  jDroblem  :  "  From  thine  apprehended  scheme 
of  things,  deduce 

Praise  or  blame  of  its  contriver,  shown  a  niggard  or 
profuse 

In  each  good  or  evil  issue !  nor  miscalculate  alike 

Counting  one  the  other  in  the  final  balance,  which  to 
strike, 

Soul  was  born  and  life  allotted  :  ay,  the  show  of  things 
unfurled 

For  thy  summing-up  and  judgment,  —  thine,  no  other 
mortal's  world  ! " 

What  though  fancy  scarce  may  grapple  with  the  com- 
plex and  immense 

—  "  His   own  world   for  every   mortal  ?  "     Postulate 
omnipotence  ! 

Limit  power,  and  simple  grows  the  complex :  shrunk 
to  atom  size, 

That  which  loomed  immense  to  fancy  low  before  my 
reason  lies,  — 


LA   SAISIAZ.  129 

I  survey  it  and  pronounce  it  work  like  other  work  : 

success 
Here   and   there,  the   workman's   glory,  —  here   and 

there,  his  shame  no  less, 
Failure  as  conspicuous.     Taunt  not  "Human  work 

ape  work  divine  ?  " 
As  the  power,  expect  performance  !     God's  be  God's 

as  mine  is  mine  ! 
God  whose  power  made  man  and  made  man's  wants, 

and  made,  to  meet  those  wants. 
Heaven  and  earth  which,  through  the  body,  prove  the 

spirit's  ministrants. 
Excellently  all,  —  did  he  lack  power  or  was  the  will 

in  fault 
When  he  let  blue  heaven  be  shrouded  o'er  by  vapors 

of  the  vault. 
Gay  earth  drop  her  garlands  shrivelled  at  the  first  in- 
fecting breath 
Of  the  serpent  pains  which  herald,  swarming  in,  the 

dragon  death  ? 
What,  no  way  but  this  that  man  may  learn  and  lay  to 

heart  how  rife 
Life  were  with  delights  would  only  death  allow  their 

taste  to  life  ? 
Must  the  rose  sigh   "  Pluck  —  I  perish  ! "  must  the 

eve  weep  "  Gaze  —  I  fade  !  " 
9 


130  LA  SAISIAZ. 

—  Every  sweet  warn  "  'Ware  my  bitter !  "  every  shine 
bid  "  Wait  my  shade  ?  " 

Can  we  love  but  on  condition,  that  the  thing  we  love 
must  die  ? 

Needs  there  groan  a  world  in  anguish  just  to  teach  us 
sympathy  — 

Multitudinously  wretched  that  we,  wretched  too,  may 
guess 

What  a  preferable  state  were  universal  happiness  ? 

Hardly  do  I  so  conceive  the  outcome  of  that  power 
which  went 

To  the  making  of  the  worm  there  in  yon  clod  its  ten- 
ement, 

Any  more  than  I  distinguish  aught  of  that  which,  wise 
and  good, 

Framed  the  leaf,  its  plain  of  pasture,  dropped  the 
dew,  its  fineless  food. 

Nay,  were  fancy  fact,  were  earth  and  all  it  holds  illu- 
sion mere, 

Only  a  machine  for  teaching  love  and  hate  and  hope 
and  fear 

To  myself,  the  sole  existence,  single  truth  mid  false- 
hood, —  well  ! 

If  the  harsh  throes  of  the  prelude  die  not  off  into  the 
swell 

Of  that  perfect  piece  they  sting  me  to  become  a-strain 
for,  —  if 


LA   SAISIAZ.  131 

Roughness  of  the  long  rock-clamber  lead  not  to  the 

last  of  cliff, 
First  of  level  country  where  is  sward  my  pilgrim-foot 

can  prize,  — 
Plainlier !  if  this  life's  conception  new  life  fail  to  real- 
ize, — 
Though  earth  burst  and  proved  a  bubble  glassing  hues 

of  hell,  one  huge 
Reflex  of  the  devil's  doings  —  God's  work  by  no  sub- 
terfuge — 
(So  death's  kindly  touch  informed  me  as  it  broke  the 

glamour,  gave 
Soul  and  body  both  release  from  life's  long  nightmare 

in  the  grave) 
3till,  —  with  no  more  Nature,  no  more  Man  as  riddle 

to  be  read, 
Only  my  own  joys  and  sorrows  now  to  reckon  real 

instead,  — 
I  must  say  —  or  choke  in  silence  —  "  Howsoever  came 

my  fate. 
Sorrow  did  and  joy  did  nowise,  —  life  well  weighed,  — 

preponderate." 
By  necessity  ordained   thus  ?     I  shall  bear  as  best  I 

can; 
By  a  cause   all-good,  all-wise,  all-potent  ?     No,  as    I 

am  man  ! 
Such  were  God  :  and  was  it  goodness  that  the   good 

within  my  range 


132  LA   SAISIAZ. 

Or  had   evil   in    admixture   or  grew    evil's   self  by 

change  ? 
Wisdom  —  that   becoming   wise  meant   making   slow 

and  sure  advance 
From  a   knowledge   proved  in  error  to   acknowledged 

ignorance  ? 
Power  ?  't  is  just  the   main   assumption   reason   most 

revolts  at !  power 
Unavailing  for  bestowment  on  its  creature  of  an  hour, 
Man,  of  so  much   proper   action   rightly   aimed   and 

reaching  aim, 
So  much   passion,  —  no  defect   there,  no   excess,  but 

still  the  same,  — 
As  what  constitutes  existence,  pure  perfection  bright 

as  brief 
For  yon  worm,  man's  fellow-creature,  on  yon  happier 

world  —  its  leaf  ! 
No,    as    I    am   man,    I   mourn   the    poverty   I   must 

impute  : 
Goodness,    wisdom,    power,    all    bounded,    each    a 

human  attribute  ! 

But,  O  world  outspread  beneath  me  !  only  for  myself 

I  speak, 
Nowise  dare  to  play  the  spokesman  for  my  brothers 

strong  and  weak. 
Full  and  empty,  wise  and  foolish,  good  and  bad,  in 

every  age, 


LA   SAISIAZ.  133 

Ever}'  clime,  I  turn  my  eyes  from,  as  in  one  or  other 

stage 
Of  a  torture  writhe  they,  Job-like  couched  on  dung 

and  crazed  with  blains 
—  Wherefore  ?  whereto  ?  ask  the  whirlwind  what  the 

dread  voice  thence  explains  ! 
I  shall  "vindicate  no  way  of  God's  to  man,"  nor  stand 

apart, 
**  Laugh,  be  candid,"  while  I  watch  it  traversing  the 

human  heart ! 
Traversed  heart  must  tell  its  story  uncommented  on  : 

no  less 
Mine  results  in  "  Only  grant  a  second  life,  I  acqui- 
esce 
In   this   present   life   as   failure,    count    misfortune's 

worst  assaults 
Triumph,  not  defeat,  assured   that  loss  so  much  the 

more  exalts 
Gain    about  to   be.     For  at  what  moment   did  I    so 

advance 
Near  to  knowledge  as  when  frustrate  of  escape  from 

ignorance  ? 
Did  not  beauty  prove  most  precious  when  its  oppo- 
site obtained 
Rule,  and  truth  seem  more  than  ever  potent  because 

falsehood  reigned  ? 
While  for  love  —  Oh  how  but,  losing  love,  does  whoso 

loves  succeed 


134  ^^  SAISIAZ. 

By  the  death-pang  to  the  birth-throe — learning  what 

is  love  indeed  ? 
Only  grant  my  soul  may  carry  high  through  death  her 

cup  unspilled, 
Brimming  though  it   be   with   knowledge,  life's   loss 

drop  by  drop  distilled, 
I  shall  boast  it  mine  —  the  balsam,  bless  each  kindly 

wrench  that  wrung 
From  life's  tree   its   inmost  virtue,   tapped  the   root 

whence  pleasure  sprung. 
Barked  the  bole,  and  broke  the  bough,  and  bruised 

the  berry,  left  all  grace 
Ashes  in  death's   stern   alembic,  loosed   elixir   in   its 

place ! 

Witness,  Dear  and  True,  how  little  I  was  'ware  of  — 
not  your  worth 

—  That  I  knew,  my  heart  assures  me  —  but  of  what  a 
shade  on  earth 

Would  the  passage  from  my  presence  of  the  tall  white 
figure  throw 

O'er  the  ways  we  wallced  together!  Somewhat  nar- 
row, somewhat  slow. 

Used  to  seem  the  ways,  the  walking  :  narrow  ways  are 
well  to  tread 

When  there 's  moss  beneath  the  footstep,  honeysuckle 
overhead  : 


LA   SAISIAZ.  135 

Walking  slow  to  beating  bosom  surest  solace  soonest 
gives, 

Liberates  the  brain  o'er-loaded  —  best  of  all  restora- 
tives. 

Nay,  do  I  forget  the  open  vast  where  soon  or  late  con- 
verged 

Ways  though  winding  ?  —  world-wide  heaven-high  sea 
where  music  slept  or  surged 

As  the  angel  had  ascendant,    and   Beethoven's   Titan 
mace 

Smote  the  immense  to  storm,  Mozart  would  by  a  fin- 
ger's lifting  chase  ? 

Yes,  I  knew  —  but  not  with  knowledge  such  as  thrills 
me  while  I  view 

Yonder  precinct  which  henceforward  holds  and  hides 
the  Dear  and  True. 

Grant  me  (once  again)  assurance  we  shall  each  meet 
each  some  day, 

Walk  —  but  with   how  bold  a  footstep  !  on  a  way  — 
but  what  a  way  ! 

—  Worst  were  best,  defeat   were    triumph,  utter   loss 
were  utmost  gain. 

Can  it  be,  and  must,  and  will  it  "i 

Silence  !     Out  of  fact's  domain. 

Just  surmise  prepared  to  mutter  hope,  and  also  fear  — 
dispute 

Fact's   inexorable  ruling   "  Outside  fact,  surmise   be 
mute  ! " 


136  LA   SAISIAZ. 

Well  ! 

Ay,  well  and  best,  if  fact's  self  I  may  force 
the  answer  from  ! 

'T  is  surmise  I  stop  the   mouth   of !     Not   above   in 
yonder  dome 

All  a  rapture  with  its  rose-glow,  —  not  around,  where 
pile  and  peak 

Strainingly  await  the  sun's  fall,  —  not  beneath,  where 
crickets  creak. 

Birds   assemble  for  their   bed-time,  soft  the    tree-top 
swell  subsides, — 

No,  nor  yet  within  my  deepest  sentient  self  the  knowl- 
edge hides  ! 

Aspiration,  reminiscence,  plausibilities  of  trust 

—  Now  the  ready  "  Man  were  wronged  else,"  now  the 
rash  "  and  God  unjust  "  — 

None  of  these  I  need  !     Take  thou,  my  soul,  thy  soli- 
tary stand, 

Umpire  to  the  champions  Fancy,  Reason,  as  on  either 
hand 

Amicable  war  they  wage  and  play  the  foe  in  thy  be- 
hoof! 

Fancy  thrust  and  Reason   parry !      Thine  the  prize 
who  stand  aloof ! 

FANCY. 

I  concede  the  thing  refused  :  henceforth  no  certainty 
more  plain 


LA   SAISIAZ.  137 

Than  this  mere  surmise  that  after  body  dies  soul  lives 
again. 

Two,  the  only  facts  acknowledged  late,  are  now  in- 
creased to  three  — 

God  is,  and  the  soul  is,  and,  as  certain,  after  death 
shall  be. 

Put  this  third  to  use  in  life,  the  time  for  using  fact ! 

REASON- 

I  do 

Find  it  promises  advantage,  coupled  with  the  other 
two. 

Life  to  come  will  be  improvement  on  the  life  that 's 
now ;  destroy 

Body's  thwartings,  there  's  no  longer  screen  betwixt 
soul  and  soul's  joy. 

Why  should  we  expect  new  hindrance,  novel  tether  ? 
In  this  first 

Life,  I  see  the  good  of  evil,  why  our  world  began  at 
worst : 

Since  time  means  amelioration,  tardily  enough  dis- 
played, 

Yet  a  mainly  onward  moving,  never  wholly  retro- 
grade. 

We  know  more  though  we  know  little,  we  grow 
stronger  though  still  weak. 

Partly  see  though  all  too  purblind,  stammer  though 
we  cannot  speak. 


138  LA   SAISIAZ. 

There  is  no  such  grudge  in  God  as  scared  the  ancient 

Greek,  no  fresh 
Substitute  of  trap  for  dragnet,  once  a  breakage  in  the 

mesh. 
Dragons  were,  and  serpents  are,  and  blindworms  will 

be  :  ne'er  emerged 
Any  new-created  Python  for  man's  plague  since  earth 

was  purged. 
Failing  proof,  then,  of  invented  trouble  to  replace  the 

old. 
O'er  this  life  the  next  presents  advantage  much  and 

manifold  : 
Which  advantage  —  in  the  absence  of  a  fourth  and 

farther  fact 
Now  conceivably  surmised,  of  harm  to  follow  from  the 

act  — 
I   pronounce  for   man's   obtaining   at   this    moment. 

Why  delay .? 
Is  he  happy  ?   happiness  will  change :  anticipate  the 

day! 
Is   he   sad  ?    there  's   ready   refuge  :    of   all    sadness 

death's  prompt  cure  ! 
Is  he  both,  in  mingled  measure .''  cease  a  burthen  to 

endure  ! 
Pains  with  sorry  compensations,  pleasures   stinted  in 

the  dole. 
Power  that  sinks  and  pettiness  that  soars,  all  halved 

and  nothing  whole, 


LA   SAISIAZ.  139 

Idle  hopes  thr.t  lure  man  onward,  forced  back  by  as 
idle  fears  — 

What  a  load  he  stumbles  under  through  his  glad  sad 
seventy  years, 

When  a  touch  sets  right  the  turmoil,  lifts  his  spirit 
where,  flesh-freed. 

Knowledge  shall  be  rightly  named  so,  all  that  seems 
be  truth  indeed  ! 

Grant  his  forces  no  accession,  nay,  no  faculty's  in- 
crease, 

Only  let  what  now  exists  continue,  let  him  prove  in 
peace 

Power  whereof  the  interrupted  unperfected  play  en- 
ticed 

Man  through  darkness,  which  to  lighten  any  spark  of 
hope  sufficed, — 

What  shall  then  deter  his  dying  out  of  darkness  into 
light  ? 

Death  itself  perchance,  brief  pain  that  's  pang,  con- 
densed and  infinite  ? 

But  at  worst,  he  needs  must  brave  it  one  day,  while, 
at  best  he  laughs  — 

Drops  a  drop  within  his  chalice,  sleep  not  death  his 
science  quaffs  ! 

Any  moment  claims  more  courage  when,  by  crossing 
cold  and  gloom. 

Manfully  man  quits  discomfort,  makes  for  the  pro- 
vided room 


I40  LA  SAISIAZ. 

Where  the  old  friends  want  their  fellow,  where  the 
new  acquaintance  wait, 

Probably  for  talk  assembled,  possibly  to  sup  in  state ! 

I  affirm  and  reaffirm  it  therefore  :  only  make  as  plain 

As  that  man  now  lives,  that  after  dying  man  will  live 
again,  — 

Make  as  plain  the  absence,  also,  of  a  law  to  contra- 
vene 

Voluntary  passage  from  this  life  to  that  by  change  of 
scene,  — 

And  I  bid  him  —  at  suspicion  of  first  cloud  athwart 
his  sky, 

Flower's  departure,  frost's  arrival  —  never  hesitate, 
but  die ! 

FANCY. 

Then  I  double  my  concession  :  grant,  along  with  new 

life  sure. 
This    same    law   found   lacking    now  :    ordain    that, 

whether  rich  or  poor 
Present  life  is  judged  in  aught  man  counts  advantage 

—  be  it  hope, 
Be  it  fear  that  brightens,  blackens  most  or  least  his 

horoscope,  — 
He,  by  absolute  compulsion  such   as  made  him  live 

at  all, 
Go  on  living  to  the  fated  end  of  life  whate'er  befall. 


LA   SAISIAZ.  141 

What  though,  as  on  earth  he  darkling  grovels,  man 
descry  the  sphere, 

Next  life's  —  call  it,  heaven  of  freedom,  close  above 
and  crystal-clear  ? 

He  shall  find  —  say,  hell  to  punish  who  in  aught  cur- 
tails the  term, 

Fain  would  act  the  butterfly  before  he  has  played  out 
the  worm  ! 

God,  soul,  earth,  heaven,  hell,  —  five  facts  now :  what 
is  to  desiderate  ? 

REASON. 

Nothing ! .  Henceforth  man's  existence  bows  to  the 

monition  "  Wait ! 
Take  the  joys  and  bear  the  sorrows  —  neither  with 

extreme  concern  ! 
Living  here  means  nescience   simply  :   't  is  next  life 

that  helps  to  learn. 
Shut  those  eyes,  next  life  will  open,  —  stop  those  ears, 

next  life  will  teach 
Hearing's  office,  —  close  those  lips,  next  life  will  give 

the  power  of  speech  ! 
Or,  if  action  more  amuse  thee  than  the  passive  atti- 
tude, 
Bravely  bustle  through  thy  being,  busy  thee  for  ill  or 

good, 


142  LA   SAISIAZ. 

Reap  this  life's  success  or  failure  !     Soon  shall  things 

be  unperplexed 
And  the  right  and  wrong,  now  tangled,  lie  unravelled 

in  the  next." 

FANCY. 

Not  so  fast !  Still  more  concession  !  not  alone  do  I 
declare 

Life  must  needs  be  borne,  —  I  also  will  that  man  be- 
come aware 

Life  has  worth  incalculable,  every  moment  that  he 
spends 

So  much  gain  or  loss  for  that  next  life  which  on  this 
life  depends. 

Good,  done  here,  be  there  rewarded,  —  evil,  worked 
here,  there  amerced  ! 

Six  facts  now,  and  all  established,  plain  to  man  the 
last  as  first. 

REASON. 

There  was  good  and  evil,  then,  defined  to  man  by  this 

decree  ? 
Was  —  for  at  its  promulgation  both  alike  have  ceased 

to  be. 
Prior  to  this  last  announcement  "  Certainly  as  God 

exists. 
As  he  made  man's  soul,  as  soul  is  quenchless  by  the 

deathly  mists, 


LA  SAISIAZ.  143 

Yet  is,  all  the  same,  forbidden  premature  escape  from 

time 
To  eternity's  provided  purer  air  and  brighter  clime,  — 
Just  so  certainly  depends  it  on  the  use  to  which  man 

turns 
Earth,  the  good  or  evil  done  there,  whether  after  death 

he  earns 
Life  eternal,  —  heaven,  the  phrase  be,  or  eternal  death, 

—  say,  hell. 
As  his  deeds,  so  proves  his  portion,  doing  ill  or  doing 

well ! " 
—  Prior  to  this  last  announcement,  earth  was  man's 

probation-place  : 
Liberty  of  doing  evil  gave  his  doing  good  a  grace  ; 
Once  lay  down  the  law,  with  Nature's  simple  "  Such 

effects  succeed 
Causes  such,  and  heaven  or  hell  depends  upon  man's 

earthly  deed 
Just  as   surely  as  depends    the   straight  or  else  the 

crooked  line 
On  his  making  point  meet  point  or  with  or  else  widi- 

out  incline,"  — 
Thenceforth  neither  good  nor  evil  does  man,  doing 

w^hat  he  must. 
Lay  but  down  that  law  as  stringent  "  Would'st  thou 

live  again,  be  just !  " 
As  this  other  "  Would'st  thou  live  now,  regularly  draw 

thy  breath  ! 


144  L^   SAISIAZ. 

For,  suspend  the  operation,  straight  law's  breach  re- 
sults in  death  "  — 

And  (provided  always,  man,  addressed  this  mode,  be 
sound  and  sane) 

Prompt  and  absolute  obedience,  never  doubt,  will  law 
obtain  ! 

Tell  not  me  "  Look  round  us  !  nothing  each  side  but 
acknowledged  law, 

Now  styled  God's  —  now.  Nature's  edict !  "  Where  's 
obedience  without  flaw 

Paid  to  either?  What  's  the  adage  rife  in  man's 
mouth  ?     Why,  "  The  best 

I  both  see  and  praise,  the  worst  I  follow"  —  which, 
despite  professed 

Seeing,  praising,  all  the  same  he  follows,  since  he  dis- 
believes 

In  the  heart  of  him  that  edict  which  for  truth  his  head 
receives. 

There  's  evading  and  persuading  and  much  making 
law  amends 

Somehow,  there  's  the  nice  distinction  'twixt  fast  foes 
and  faulty  friends, 

—  Any  consequence  except  inevitable  death  when 
"  Die, 

Whoso  breaks  our  law  !  "  they  publish,  God  and  Nat- 
ure equally. 

Law  that 's  kept  or  broken  —  subject  to  man's  will 
and  pleasure  !     Whence  ? 


LA   SAISIAZ.  145 

How  comes  law  to  bear  eluding?  Not  because  of  im- 
potence : 

Certain  laws  exist  already  which  to  hear  means  to 
obey ; 

Therefore  not  without  a  purpose  these  man  must, 
while  those  man  may 

Keep  and,  for  the  keeping,  haply  gain  approval  and 
reward. 

Break  through  this  last  superstructure,  all  is  empt}-  air 
—  no  sward 

Firm  like  my  first  fact  to  stand  on  "  God  there  is,  and 
soul  there  is," 

And  soul's  earthly  life-allotment :  wherein,  by  hypoth- 
esis, 

Soul  is  bound  to  pass  probation,  prove  its  powers,  and 
exercise 

Sense  and  thought  on  fact,  and  then,  from  fact  educ- 
ing fit  surmise, 

Ask  itself,  and  of  itself  have  solely  answer,  "  Does 
tlie  scope 

Earth  affords  of  fact  to  judge  by  warrant  future  fear 
or  hope  ? " 

Thus  have  we  come  back  full  circle  :  fancy's  footsteps 

one  by  one 
Go  their  round  conducting  reason  to  the  point  where 

they  begun, 
10 


146  LA   SAISIAZ. 

Left  where  we  were  left  so  lately,    Dear  and   True ! 

When,  half  a  week 
Since,  we  walked  and  talked  and  thus  I  told  you,  how 

suffused  a  cheek 
You  had  turned  me  had  I  sudden  brought  the  blush 

into  the  smile 
By  some  word  like  "  Idly  argued  !  you  know  better  all 

the  while  !  " 
Now,  from  me  —  Oh  not  a  blush  but,  how  much  more, 

a  joyous  glow, 
Laugh  triumphant,  would  it  strike  did  your  "Yes, bet- 
ter I  do  know" 
Break,  my  warrant   for   assurance !   which  assurance 

may  not  be 
If,  supplanting  hope,  assurance   needs   must  change 

this  life  to  me. 
So,  I  hope  —  no  more  than  hope,  but  hope  —  no  less 

than  hope,  because 
I  can  fathom,  by  no  plumb-line  sunk  in  life's  apparent 

laws, 
How  I  may  in  any  instance  fix  where  change  should 

meetly  fall 
Nor  involve,  by   one  revisal,  abrogation  of  them  all 
—  Which    again   involves  as  utter  change  in  life  thus 

law-released. 
Whence  the  good  of  goodness  vanished  when  the  ill 

of  evil  ceased. 


LA   SAISIAZ.  147 

Whereas,  life  ar\,d  laws  apparent  re-instated,  —  all  we 

know, 
All   we   know   not,  —  o'er   our   heaven    again   cloud 

closes,  until,  lo  — 
Hope  the  arro\vy,  just  as  constant,  comes  to  pierce  its 

gloom,  compelled 
By  a  power  and  by  a  purpose  which,  if  no  one  else 

beheld, 
I  behold  in  life,  so  —  hope  ! 

Sad  summing-up  of  all  to  say! 

At/ianasius  contra  mundum,  why  should  he  hope  more 
than  they  ? 

So  are  men  made  notwithstanding,  such  magnetic  vir- 
tue darts 

From  each  head  their  fancy  haloes  to  their  unresist- 
ing hearts ! 

Here  I  stand,  methinks  a  stone's  throw  from  yon  vil- 
lage I  this  morn 

Traversed  for  the  sake  of  looking  one  last  look  at  its 
forlorn 

Tenement's  ignoble  fortune :  through  a  crevice,  plain 
its  floor 

Piled  with  provender  for  cattle,  while  a  dung-heap 
blocked  the  door. 

In  that  squalid  Bossex,  under  that  obscene  red  roof, 
arose. 


148  LA  SAISIAZ. 

Like  a  fien^   flying   serpent   from    its   tgg,  a  soul  — 

Rousseau's. 
Turn  thence  !     Is  it  Diodati  joins  the  glimmer  of  the 

lake? 
There  I  plucked  a  leaf,  one  week  since,  —  ivy,  plucked 

for  Byron's  sake. 
Famed  unfortunates  !     And  yet,  because  of  that  phos- 
phoric fame 
Swathing  blackness'  self  with  brightness  till  putridity 

looked  flame, 
All   the   world   was   witched :    and   wherefore  ?   what 

could  lie  beneath,  allure 
Heart  of  man  to  let  corruption  serve  man's  head  as 

cynosure  ? 
Was  the  magic  in  the  dictum  "  All  that 's  good  is  gone 

and  past ; 
Bad  and  worse  still  grows  the  present,  and  the  worst 

of  all  comes  last : 
Which  believe  —  for  I  believe  it?"     So  preached  one 

his  gospel-news ; 
While  melodious  moaned  the  other  "  Dying  day  with 

dolphin-hues  ! 
Storm,  for  loveliness  and  darkness  like  a  woman's  eye  ! 

Ye  mounts 
Where  I  climb  to    'scape  my   fellow,    and   thou   sea 

wherein  he  counts 
Not  one   inch   of   vile    dominion !     What   were   your 

especial  worth 


LA   SAISIAZ  149 

Failed  ye  to  enforce  the  maxim  'Of  all  objects  found 

on  earth 
Man  is  meanest,  much  too  honored  when    compared 

with  —  what  by  odds 
Beats  him  —  any  dog  :  so,  let  him  go  a-howling  to  his 

gods ! ' 
Which  believe  —  for  I  believe  it !  "  such  the  comfort 

man  received 
Sadly  since  perforce  he  must :  for  why  ?  the  famous 

bard  believed  ! 

Fame  !    Then,  give  me  fame,  a  moment  !    As  I  gather 

at  a  glance 
Human  glory  after  glory  vivifying  yon  expanse. 
Let  me   grasp    them    altogether,   hold    on    high    and 

brandish  well 
Beacon-like    above    the    rapt    world    ready,    whether 

heaven  or  hell 
Send  the  dazzling  summons  downward,  to  submit  itself 

the  same. 
Take  on  trust  the  hope  or  else  despair  flashed  full  on 

face  by  —  Fame  ! 
Thanks,  thou  pine-tree  of  Makistos,  wide  thy  giant 

torch  I  wave  ! 
Know  ye  whence  I  plucked  the  pillar,  late  with  sky 

for  architrave  ? 
This  the  trunk,  the  central  solid  Knowledge,  kindled 

core,  began 


150  LA   SAISIAZ. 

Tugging    earth-deeps,  trying    heaven-heights,    rooted 

yonder  at  Lausanne. 
This  which  flits  and  spits,  the  aspic,  —  sparkles  in  and 

out  the  boughs 
Now,  and  now  condensed,  the  python,  coiling  round 

and  round  allows 
Scarce  the  bole  its  due  effulgence,  dulled  by  flake  on 

flake  of  Wit  — 
Laughter  so  bejewels  Learning,  —  what  but  Ferney 

nourished  it  ? 
Nay,  nor  fear  —  since  every  resin  feeds  the  flame  — 

that  I  dispense 
With  yon    Bossex   terebinth-tree's   all-explosive   Elo- 
quence : 
No,  be  sure  !  nor,  any  more  than  thy  resplendency, 

Jean-Jacques, 
Dare  I  want  thine,  Diodati !     What  though  monkeys 

and  macaques 
Gibber  "  Byron  ? "     Byron's  ivy  rears  a  branch  beyond 

the  crew, 
Green  forever,  no  deciduous  trash  macaques  and  mon- 
keys chew ! 
As  Rousseau,  then,  eloquent,  as  Byron  prime  in  poet's 

power,  — 
Detonations,  fulgurations,  smiles  —  the  rainbow,  tears 

—  the  shower,  — 
Lo,    I    lift   the    coruscating    marvel  —  Fame  !    and, 

famed,  declare 


LA   SAISIAZ.  151 

—  Learned  for  the  nonce  as  Gibbon,  witty  as  wit's  self 

Voltaire  .  .  . 
O  the   sorriest  of   conclusions   to  whatever   man  of 

sense 
Mid  the  millions  stands  the  unit,  takes  no  flare  for 

evidence  ! 
Yet  the  millions  have  their  portion,  live  their  calm  or 

troublous  day, 
Find  significance  in  fireworks  :  so,  by  help  of  mine, 

they  may 
Confidently  lay  to  heart  and  lock  in  head  their  life 

long  —  this  : 
"  He   there  with   the   brand  flamboyant,   broad   o'er 

night's  forlorn  abj'ss, 
Crowned  by  prose  and  verse  ;  and  wielding,  with  Wit's 

bauble,  Learning's  rod  .  .  . 
Well  ?     Why,  he  at  least  believed  in  Soul,  was  very 

sure  of  God ! 


So  the  poor  smile  played,  that  evening :  pallid  smile 

long  since  extinct 
Here  in  London's    mid-November !      Not  so  loosely 

thoughts  were  linked. 
Six  weeks  since  as  I,  descending  in  the  sunset  from 

Saleve, 
Found  the  chain,  I  seemed  to  forge  there,  flawless  till 

it  reached  your  grave,  — 


152  LA  SAISIAZ. 

Not  SO  filmy  was   the  texture,   but  I  bore  it  in  my 

breast 
Safe  thus  far.     And  since  I  found  a  something  in  me 

would  not  rest 
Till  I,  link  by  link,  unravelled  any  tangle  of  the  chain, 
—  Here  it  lies,  for  much  or  little  !     I  have  Hved  all 

o'er  again 
That  last  pregnant  hour  :  I  saved  it,  just  as  I  could 

save  a  root 
Disinterred  for  re-interment  when  the  time  best  helps 

to  shoot. 
Life  is  stocked  with  germs  of  torpid  life  ;  but  may  I 

never  wake 
Those  of  mine  whose  resurrection  could  not  be  with- 
out earthquake  ! 
Rest  all    such,  unraised  forever!     Be  this,   sad  yet 

sweet,  the  sole 
Memory  evoked  from  slumber  !    Least  part  this  ■   then 

what  the  whole  ? 
November  9,  1 87  7. 


THE   TWO   POETS   OF  CROISIC. 


I. 

Such  a  starved  bank  of  moss 
Till,  that  May-morn, 

Blue  ran  the  flash  across  : 
Violets  were  born ! 


Sk)^  —  what  a  scowl  of  cloud 

Till,  near  and  far, 
Ray  on  ray  split  the  shroud : 

Splendid,  a  star ! 

3- 

World  —  how  it  walled  about 

Life  with  disgrace 
Till  God's  own  smile  came  out ; 

That  was  thy  face  ! 


^^8 

^ 

^|i 

b:^ 

^^^^s 

^^ 

^***»  '^ 

fc 

THE   TWO    POETS    OF   CROISIC. 


I. 

"Fame  !  "     Yes,  I  said  it  and  you  read  it.     First, 
Praise  the  good  log-fire  !     Winter  howls  without. 

Crowd  closer,  let  us  !     Ha,  the  secret  nursed 
Inside  yon  hollow,  crusted  roundabout 

With  copper  where  the  clamp  was,  —  how  the  burst 
Vindicates  flame  the  stealthy  feeder  !     Spout 

Thy  splendidest  —  a  minute  and  no  more  ? 

So  soon  a^ain  all  sobered  as  before  ? 


Nay,  for  I  need  to  see  your  face  !     One  stroke 
Adroitly  dealt,  and  lo,  the  pomp  revealed  ! 

Fire  in  his  pandemonium,  heart  of  oak 

Palatial,  where  he  wrought  the  works  concealed 

Beneath  the  solid  seeming  roof  I  broke. 
As  redly  up  and  out  and  off  they  reeled 

Like  disconcerted  imps,  those  thousand  sparks 

From  fire's  slow  tunnelling:  of  vaults  and  arcs  ! 


l60  THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC. 


Up  with  thee,  mouldering  ash  men  never  knew, 
But  I  know  !  flash  thou  forth,  and  figure  bold, 

Calm  and  columnar  as  3'on  flame  I  view  ! 
Oh  and  I  bid  thee,  —  to  whom  fortune  doled 

Scantly  all  other  gifts  out  —  bicker  blue, 
Beauty  for  all  to  see,  zinc's  uncontrolled 

Flake-brilliance  !     Not  my  fault  if  these  were  shown, 

Grandeur  and  beauty  both,  to  me  alone. 

9- 

No  !  as  the  first  was  boy's  play,  this  proves  mere 
Stripling's  amusement :  manhood's  sport  be  grave  ! 

Choose  rather  sparkles  quenched  in  mid  career, 
True  boldness  and  true  brightness  could  not  save 

(In  some  old  night  of  time  on  some  lone  drear 
Sea-coast,  monopolized  by  crag  or  cave) 

—  Save  from  ignoble  exit  into  smoke, 

Silence,  oblivion,  all  death-damps  that  choke ! 


Launched  by  our  ship-wood,  float  we,  once  adrift. 
In  fancy  to  that  land-strip  waters  wash. 

We  both   know  well  !     Where  uncouth   tribes  made 
shift 
Long  since  to  keep  the  life  in  billows  dash 


THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC.  l6l 

Right  over ;  still  they  shudder  at  each  lift 

Of  the  old  tyrant  tempest's  whirlwind-lash 
Though  they  have  built  the  serviceable  town 
Tempests  but  tease  now,  billows  drench,  not  drown. 


Croisic,  the  spit  of  sandy  rock  which  juts 

Spitefully  northward,  bears  nor  tree  nor  shrub 

To  tempt  the  ocean,  show  what  Guerande  shuts 
Behind  her,  past  wild  Batz  whose  Saxons  grub 

The  ground  for  cr}'stals  grown  where  ocean  gluts 
Their  promontor}-'s  breadth  with  salt :  all  stub 

Of  rock  and  stretch  of  sand,  the  land's  last  strife 

To  rescue  just  a  remnant  for  dear  life. 


And   what    life !      Here    was,    from    the    world    to 
choose, 

The  Druids'  chosen  chief  of  homes  :  they  reared 
—  Only  their  women,  —  mid  the  slush  and  ooze 

Of  yon  low  islet,  —  to  their  sun,  revered 
In    strange    stone    guise,  —  a    temple.       May-dawn 
dews 

Saw  the  old  structure  levelled  ;  when  there  peered 
May's  earliest  eve-star,  high  and  wide  once  more 
Up  towered  the  new  pile  perfect  as  before : 


102  THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC. 

13- 

Seeing  that  priestesses  —  and  all  were  such  — 
Unbuilt  and  then  rebuilt  it  every  May, 

Each  alike  helping  —  well,  if  not  too  much  ! 
For,  mid  their  eagerness  to  outstrip  day 

And  get  work  done,  if  any  loosed  her  clutch 
And  let  a  single  stone  drop,  straight  a  prey 

Herself  fell,  torn  to  pieces,  limb  from  limb, 

By  sisters  in  full  chorus  glad  and  grim. 

14. 

And  still  so  much  remains  of  that  gray  cult, 
That  even  now,  of  nights,  do  women  steal 

To  the  sole  Menhir  standing,  and  insult 
The  antagonistic  church-spire  by  appeal 

To  power  discrowned  in  vain,  since  each  adult 
Believes  the  gruesome  thing  she  clasps  may  heal 

Whatever  plague  no  priestly  help  can  cure  : 

Kiss  but  the  cold  stone,  the  event  is  sure  ! 


15- 

Nay  more  :  on  May-morns,  that  primeval  rite 
Of  temple-building,  with  its  punishment 

For  rash  precipitation,  lingers,  spite 

Of  all  remonstrance  ;  vainly  are  they  shent, 

Those  girls  who  form  a  ring  and,  dressed  in  white, 


THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC.  1 63 

Dance  round  it,  till  some  sister's  strength  be  spent : 
Touch  but  the  Menhir,  straight  the  rest  turn  roughs 
From  gentles,  fall  on  her  with  fisticuffs. 

16. 

Oh  and,  for  their  part,  boys  from  door  to  door 

Sing  unintelligible  words  to  tunes 
As  obsolete  :  "scraps  of  Druidic  lore," 

Sigh  scholars,  as  each  pale  man  importunes 
Vainly  the  mumbling  to  speak  plain  once  more. 

Enough  of  this  old  worship,  rounds  and  runes  ! 
They  serve  my  purpose,  which  is  just  to  show 
Croisic  to-day  and  Croisic  long  ago. 

17- 
What  have  we  sailed  to  see,  then,  wafted  there 

By  fancy  from  the  log  that  ends  its  days 
Of  much  adventure  'neath  skies  foul  or  fair, 

On  waters  rough  or  smooth,  in  this  good  blaze 
We  two  crouch  round  so  closely,  bidding  care 

Keep  outside  with  the  snow-storm  ?    Something  says 
"  Fit  time  for  story-telling  !  "  I  begin  — 
Why  not  at  Croisic,  port  we  first  put  in  ? 

18. 

Anywhere  ser\'es :  for  point  me  out  the  place 
Wherever  man  has  made  himself  a  home, 


164  THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC. 

And  there  I  find  the  stoty  of  our  race 

In  little,  just  at  Croisic  as  at  Rome. 
What  matters  the  degree  ?  the  kind  I  trace. 

Druids  their  temple,  Christians  have  their  dome  : 
So  with  mankind  ;  and  Croisic,  I  '11  engage, 
With  Rome  yields  sort  for  sort,  in  age  for  age. 

19. 

No  doubt,  men  vastly  differ :  and  we  need 
Some  strange  exceptional  benevolence 

Of  nature's  sunshine  to  develop  seed 

So  well,  in  the  less-favored  clime,  that  thence 

We  may  discern  how  shrub  means  tree  indeed 
Though  dwarfed  till  scarcely  shrub  in  evidence. 

Man  in  the  ice-house  and  the  hot-house  ranks 

With  beasts  or  gods  :  stove-forced,  give  warmth  the 

thanks ! 

20. 

While,  is  there  any  ice-checked  ?     Such  shall  learn 
I  am  thankworthy,  who  propose  to  slake 

His  thirst  for  tasting  how  it  feels  to  turn 
Cedar  from  hyssop-on-the-wall.     I  wake 

No  memories  of  what  is  harsh  and  stern 
In  ancient  Croisic-nature,  much  less  rake 

The  ashes  of  her  last  warmth  till  out  leaps 

Live  Herve'  Riel,  the  single  spark  she  keeps. 


THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC.  1 65 

21. 

Take  these  two,  see,  each  outbreak,  —  spirt  and  spirt 
Of  fire  from  our  brave  billet's  either  edge 

Which  call  maternal  Croisic  ocean-girt !  — 

These  two  shall  thoroughly  redeem  my  pledge. 

One  flames  fierce  gules,  its  feebler  rival  —  vert. 
Heralds  would  tell  you  :  heroes,  I  allege, 

They  both  were  :  soldiers,  sailors,  statesmen,  priests, 

Lawyers,  physicians  — guess  what  gods  or  beasts  ! 


None  of  them  all,  but  —  poets,  if  you  please  ! 

"  What,  even  there,  endowed  with  knack  of  rhyme, 
Did  two  among  the  aborigines 

Of  that  rough  region  pass  the  ungracious  time 
Suiting,  to  rumble-tumble  of  the  sea's, 

The  songs  forbidden  a  serener  clime  ? 
Or  had  they  universal  audience  —  that 's 
To  say,  the  folk  of  Croisic,  ay  and  Batz  .'' " 


Open  your  ears  !     Each  poet  in  his  day 
Had  such  a  mighty  moment  of  success 

As  pinnacled  him  straight,  in  full  display, 

For  the  whole  world  to  worship  —  nothing  less  ! 

Was  not  the  whole  polite  world  Paris,  pray  ? 
And  did  not  Paris,  for  one  moment  —  yes, 


164  THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC. 

And  there  I  find  the  story  of  our  race 

In  little,  just  at  Croisic  as  at  Rome. 
What  matters  the  degree  ?  the  kind  I  trace. 

Druids  their  temple,  Christians  have  their  dome  : 
So  with  mankind  ;  and  Croisic,  I  '11  engage, 
With  Rome  yields  sort  for  sort,  in  age  for  age. 

19. 

No  doubt,  men  vastly  differ :  and  we  need 
Some  strange  exceptional  benevolence 

Of  nature's  sunshine  to  develop  seed 

So  well,  in  the  less-favored  clime,  that  thence 

We  may  discern  how  shrub  means  tree  indeed 
Though  dwarfed  till  scarcely  shrub  in  evidence. 

Man  in  the  ice-house  and  the  hot-house  ranks 

With  beasts  or  gods  :  stove-forced,  give  warmth  the 

thanks ! 

20. 

While,  is  there  any  ice-checked  ?     Such  shall  learn 
I  am  thankworthy,  who  propose  to  slake 

His  thirst  for  tasting  how  it  feels  to  turn 
Cedar  from  hyssop-on-the-wall.     I  wake 

No  memories  of  what  is  harsh  and  stern 
In  ancient  Croisic-nature,  much  less  rake 

The  ashes  of  her  last  warmth  till  out  leaps 

Live  Herve  Riel,  the  single  spark  she  keeps. 


THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISfC.  165 


21. 


Take  these  two,  see,  each  outbreak,  —  spirt  and  spirt 
Of  fire  from  our  brave  billet's  either  edge 

Which  call  maternal  Croisic  ocean-girt  !  — 

These  two  shall  thoroughly  redeem  my  pledge. 

One  flames  fierce  gules,  its  feebler  rival  —  vert, 
Heralds  would  tell  you  :  heroes,  I  allege, 

They  both  were  :  soldiers,  sailors,  statesmen,  priests. 

Lawyers,  physicians  — guess  what  gods  or  beasts  ! 


None  of  them  all,  but  —  poets,  if  you  please  ! 

"  What,  even  there,  endowed  with  knack  of  rhyme, 
Did  two  among  the  aborigines 

Of  that  rough  region  pass  the  ungracious  time 
Suiting,  to  rumble-tumble  of  the  sea's. 

The  songs  forbidden  a  serener  clime  ? 
Or  had  they  universal  audience  —  that 's 
To  say,  the  folk  of  Croisic,  ay  and  Batz  ? " 


Open  j'our  ears  !     Each  poet  in  his  day 
Had  such  a  mighty  moment  of  success 

As  pinnacled  him  straight,  in  full  display, 

For  the  whole  world  to  worship  —  nothing  less  ! 

Was  not  the  whole  polite  world  Paris,  pray  ? 
And  did  not  Paris,  for  one  moment  —  yes, 


1 66  THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC. 

Worship  these  poet-flames,  our  red  and  green, 
One  at  a  time,  a  century  between  ? 

24. 

And  yet  you  never  heard  their  names  !     Assist, 

Clio,  Historic  Muse,  while  I  record 
Great  deeds  !     Let  fact,  not  fancy,  break  the  mist 

And  bid  each  sun  emerge,  in  turn  play  lord 
Of  day,  one  moment !     Hear  the  annalist 

Tell  a  strange  story,  true  to  the  least  word  ! 
At  Croisic,  sixteen  hundred  years  and  ten 
Since  Christ,  forth  flamed  yon  liquid  ruby,  then. 

25- 
Know  him  henceforth  as  Rene  Gentilhomme 

—  Appropriate  appellation  !  noble  birth 
And  knightly  blazon,  the  device  wherefrom 

Was  "  Better  do  than  say  "  !     In  Croisic's  dearth 
Why  prison  his  career  while  Christendom 

Lay  open  to  reward  acknowledged  worth  ? 
He  therefore  left  it  at  the  proper  age 
And  got  to  be  the  Prince  of  Conde's  page. 

26. 

Which   Prince    of   Conde,  whom   men    called    "  The 
Duke," 

—  Failing  the  king,  his  cousin,  of  an  heir, 


THE   TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC.  1 67 

(As  one  might  hold  would  hap,  without  rebuke, 
Since  Anne  of  Austria,  all  the  world  was  'ware. 

Twenty-three  years  long  sterile,  scarce  could  look 
For  issue)  — failing  Louis  of  so  rare 

A  godsend,  it  was  natural  the  Prince 

Should   hear  men  call    him   "Next  King"  too,   nor 

wince. 

27. 

Now,  as  this  reasonable  hope,  by  growth 

Of  years,  nay,  tens  of  years,  looked  plump  almost 

To  bursting,  —  would  the  brothers,  childless  both, 
Louis  and  Gaston,  give  but  up  the  ghost  — 

Conde',   called   '"  Duke  "  and   "  Next  King,"   nothing 
loth 
Awaited  his  appointment  to  the  post, 

And  wiled  away  the  time,  as  best  he  might, 

Till  providence  should  settle  things  aright. 

28. 

So,  at  a  certain  pleasure-house,  withdrawn 
From  cities  where  a  whisper  breeds  offence, 

He  sat  him  down  to  watch  the  streak  of  dawn 
Testify  to  first  stir  of  providence  ; 

And,  since  dull  countrj^  life  makes  courtiers  yawn, 
There  wanted  not  a  poet  to  dispense 

Song's  remedy  for  spleen-fits  all  and  some. 

Which  poet  was  Page  Rene  Gentilhorame. 


1 68  THE   TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC. 

29. 

A  poet  born  and  bred,  his  very  sire 

A  poet  also,  author  of  a  piece 
Printed  and  pubhshed,  '"  Ladies  —  their  attire  "  : 

Therefore  the  son,  just  born  at  his  decease, 
Was  bound  to  keep  alive  the  sacred  fire, 

And  kept  it,  yielding  moderate  increase 
Of  songs  and  sonnets,  madrigals,  and  much 
Rhyming  thought  poetry  and  praised  as  such. 

30. 

Rubbish  unutterable  (bear  in  mind  !) 

Rubbish  not  wholly  without  value,  though, 

Being  to  compliment  the  Duke  designed 
And  bring  the  complimenter  credit  so,  — 

Pleasure  with  profit  happily  combined. 

Thus  Rene'  Gentilhomme  rhymed,  rhymed  till  —  lo, 

This  happened,  as  he  sat  in  an  alcove 

Elaborating  rhyme  for  "  love  "  —  not  "  dove." 

31- 

He  was  alone  :  silence  and  solitude 
Befit  the  votary  of  the  Muse.     Around, 

Nature  —  not  our  new  picturesque  and  rude. 
But  trim  tree-cinctured  stately  garden-ground  — 

Breathed  polish  and  politeness.     All-imbued 


THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC.  1 69 

With  these,  he  sat  absorbed  in  one  profound 
Excogitation  "  Were  it  best  to  hint 
Or  boldly  boast  '  She  loves  me,  — Araminte  ?' " 

32. 

When  suddenly  flashed  lightning,  searing  sight 
Almost,  so  close  his  eyes  ;  then,  quick  on  flash, 

Followed  the  thunder,  splitting  earth  downright 
Where  Rene  sat  a-rh}Tiiing  :  with  huge  crash 

Of  marble  into  atoms  infinite  — 

Marble  which,  stately,  dared  the  world  to  dash 

The  stone-thing  proud,  high-pillared,  from  its  place : 

One  flash,  and  dust  was  all  that  lay  at  base. 

33- 

So,  when  the  horrible  confusion  loosed 

Its  wrappage  round  his  senses,  and,  with  breath, 

Seeing  and  hearing  by  degrees  induced 

Conviction  what  he  felt  was  life,  not  death  — 

His  fluttered  faculties  came  back  to  roost 
One  after  one,  as  fowls  do  :  a\-,  beneath, 

About  his  very  feet  there,  lay  in  dust 

Earthly  presumption  paid  by  heaven's  disgust. 

34- 

For,  what  might  be  the  thunder-smitten  thing 
But,  pillared  high  and  proud,  in  marble  guise, 


170  THE   TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC. 

A  ducal  crown  —  which  meant  "  Now  Duke  :  Next, 
King  ? " 

Since  such  the  Prince  was,  not  in  his-  own  eyes 
Alone,  but  all  the  world's.     Pebble  from  sling 

Prostrates  a  giant ;  so  can  pulverize 
Marble  pretension  —  how  much  more  make  moult 
His  plume,  a  peacock-prince  —  God's  thunderbolt ! 

35. 

That  was  enough  for  Rene,  that  first  fact 

Thus  flashed  into  him.     Up  he  looked  :  all  blue 

And  bright  the  sky  above  ;  earth  firm,  compact 
Beneath  his  footing,  lay  apparent  too  ; 

Opposite  stood  the  pillar:  nothing  lacked 

There,  but  the  Duke's  crown  :   see,   its  fragments 
strew 

The  earth,  —  about  his  feet  lie  atoms  fine 

Where  he  sat  nursing  late  his  fourteenth  line  ! 

36. 

So,  for  the  moment,  all  the  universe 

Being  abolished,  all  'twixt  God  and  him,  — 

Earth's  praise  or  blame,  its  blessing  or  its  curse, 
Of  one  and  the  same  value,  —  to  the  brim 

Flooded  with  truth  for  better  or  for  worse,  — 
He  pounces  on  the  writing-paper,  prim 

Keeping  its  place  on  table  :  not  a  dint 

Nor  speck  had  damaged  "Ode  to  Araminte." 


THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC.  171 

37. 

And  over  the  neat  crowquill  calUgraph 
His  pen  goes  blotting,  blurring,  as  an  ox 

Tramples  a  flower-bed  in  a  garden,  —  laugh 

You  may !  —  so   does   not   he,  whose   quick  heart 
knocks 

Audibly  at  his  breast :  an  epitaph 

On  earth's  break-up,  amid  the  falling  rocks, 

He  might  be  penning  in  a  wild  dismay. 

Caught  with  his  work  half-done  on  Judgment  Day. 

38. 

And  what  is  it  so  terribly  he  pens, 

Ruining  "  Cupid,  Venus,  wile  and  smile. 
Hearts,  darts,"  and  all  his  day's  divinior  mens 

Judged  necessary  to  a  perfect  style  ? 
Little  recks  Rene',  with  a  breast  to  cleanse, 

Of  Rhadamanthine  law  that  reigned  erewhile  : 
Brimful  of  truth,  truth's  outburst  will  convince 
(Style   or   no   style)  who   bears   truth's   brunt  —  the 
Prince. 

39- 
"  Conde,  called   '  Duke,'  be  called   just  '  Duke,'  not 
more. 
To   life's   end  !     '  Next   King '   thou   forsooth  wilt 
be? 


1^2  THE    TWO  POETS   OF  CROISIC. 

Ay,  when  this  bauble,  as  it  decked  before 
Thy  pillar,  shall  again,  for  France  to  see, 

Take  its  proud  station  there  !     Let  France  adore 
No  longer  an  illusive  mock-  sun  —  thee  — 

But  keep  her  homage  for  Sol's  self,  about 

To  rise  and  put  pretenders  to  the  rout ! 

i 
40. 

"What  ?     France  so  God-abandoned  that  her  root 
Regal,  though  many  a  Spring  it  gave  no  sign, 

Lacks  power  to  make  the  bole,  now  branchless,  shoot 
Greenly  as  ever  ?     Nature,  though  benign, 

Confuses  the  ambitious  and  astute. 

In  store  for  such  is  punishment  condign  : 

Sure  as  thy  Duke's  crown  to  the  earth  was  hurled, 

So  sure,  next  year,  a  Dauphin  glads  the  world  ! " 

41. 

Which  penned  —  some  forty  lines  to  this  effect  — 
Our  Rend  folds  his  paper,  marches  brave 

Back  to  the  mansion,  luminous,  erect, 
Triumphant,  an  emancipated  slave. 

There  stands  the  Prince.     "  How  now  ?     My  Duke's 
crown  wrecked  ? 
What  may  this  mean  ?  "     The  answer  Rend  gave 

Was —  handing  him  the  verses,  with  the  due 

Incline  of  body :  "  Sir,  God's  word  to  you  ! " 


THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC.  1 73 

42. 

The  Prince  read,  paled,  was  silent ;  all  around, 
The  courtier-company,  to  whom  he  passed 

The  paper,  read,  in  equal  silence  bound. 
By  degrees  Rene  also  grew  aghast 

At  his  own  fit  of  courage  —  palely  found 

Way  of  retreat  from  that  pale  presence  :  classed 

Once  more  among  the  cony-kind.     "  Oh,  son. 

It  is  a  feeble  folk  ! "  saith  Solomon. 

43- 
Vainly  he  apprehended  evil :  since, 

When,  at  the  year's  end,  even  as  foretold, 
Forth  came  the  Dauphin  who  discrowned  the  Prince 

Of  that  long- craved  mere  visionary  gold, 
'T  was  no  fit  time  for  envy  to  evince 

Malice,  be  sure  !     The  timidest  grew  bold : 
Of  all  that  courtier-company  not  one 
But  left  the  semblance  for  the  actual  sun. 

44. 

And  all  sorts  and  conditions  that  stood  by 
At  Rent's  burning  moment,  bright  escape 

Of  soul,  "bore  witness  to  the  prophecy. 
Which  witness  took  the  customary  shape 

Of  verse  ;  a  score  of  poets  in  full  cry 


174  THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC. 

Hailed  the  inspired  one.    Nantes  and  Tours  agape, 
Soon  Paris  caught  the  infection  ;  gaining  strength, 
How  could  it  fail  to  reach  the  Court  at  length  ? 

45- 
"  O  poet !  "  smiled  King  Louis,  "  and  besides, 

O  prophet !     Sure,  by  miracle  announced, 
My  babe  will  prove  a  prodigy.     Who  chides 

Henceforth  the  unchilded  monarch  shall  be  trounced 
For  irreligion  :  since  the  fool  derides 

Plain  miracle  by  which  this  prophet  pounced 
Exactly  on  the  moment  I  should  lift 
Like  Simeon,  in  my  arms,  a  babe,  '  God's  gift ! ' 

46. 

"  So  call  the  boy  !  and  call  this  bard  and  seer 

By  a  new  title  !  him  I  raise  to  rank 
Of  '  Royal  Poet : '  poet  without  peer ! 

Whose  fellows  only  have  themselves  to  thank 
If  humbly  they  must  follow  in  the  rear 

My  Rene.     He  's  the  master  :  they  must  clank 
Their  chains  of  song,  confessed  his  slaves  ;  for  why  } 
They  poetize,  while  he  can  prophesy  !  " 

47- 
So  said,  so  done  ;  our  Rene  rose  august, 

"  The  Royal  Poet ;  "  straightway  put  in  type 


THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC.  1 75 

His  poem-prophecy,  and  (fair  and  just 

Procedure)  added,  —  now  that  time  was  ripe 

For  proving  friends  did  well  his  word  to  trust,  — 
Those  attestations,  tuned  to  lyre  or  pipe, 

Which  friends  broke  out  with  when  he  dared  foretell 

The  Dauphin's  birth  :  friends  trusted,  and  did  well  ! 

48. 

Moreover  he  got  painted  by  Du  Prd, 
Engraved  by  Daret  also  ;  and  prefixed 

The  portrait  to  his  book :  a  crown  of  bay 

Circled  his  brows,  with  rose  and  myrtle  mixed  ; 

And  Latin  verses,  lovely  in  their  way, 

Described  him  as  "  the  biforked  hill  betwixt : 

Since  he  hath  scaled  Parnassus  at  one  jump, 

Joining  the  Delphic  quill  and  Getic  trump." 

49. 

Whereof  came  .  .  .  What,  it  lasts,  our  spirt,  thus 
long 

—  The  red  fire  ?     That 's  the  reason  must  excuse 
My  letting  flicker  Rene's  prophet-song 

No  longer ;  for  its  pertinacious  hues 
Must  fade  before  its  fellow  joins  the  throng 

Of  sparks  departed  up  the  chimney,  dues 
To  dark  oblivion.     At  the  word,  it  winks. 
Rallies,  relapses,  dwindles,  dwindles,  sinks ! 


176  THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC. 

50- 
So  does  our  poet.     All  this  burst  of  fame, 

Fury  of  favor,  Royal  Poetship, 
Prophetship,  book,  verse,  picture  —  thereof  came 

—  Nothing !     That 's  why  I  would  not  let  outstrip 
Red  his  green  rival  flamelet :  just  the  same 

Ending  in  smoke  waits  both  !     In  vain  we  rip 
The  past,  no  further  faintest  trace  remains 
Of  Rene'  to  reward  our  pious  pains. 

51- 

Somebody  saw  a  portrait  framed  and  glazed 
At  Croisic.     "  Who  may  be  this  glorified 

Mortal  unheard-of  hitherto  ?  "  amazed 
That  person  asked  the  owner  by  his  side, 

Who  proved  as  ignorant.     The  question  raised 
Provoked  inquiry ;  key  by  key  was  tried 

On  Croisic's  portrait-puzzle,  till  back  flew 

The  wards  at  one  key's  touch,  which  key  was  —  Who 

52. 
The  other  famous  poet !     Wait  thy  turn, 

Thou  green,  our  red's  competitor  !     Enough 
Just  now  to  note  't  was  he  that  itched  to  learn 

(A  hundred  years  ago)  how  fate  could  puff 
Heaven-high  (a  hundred  years  before)  then  spurn 


THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC.  1 77 

To  suds  so  big  a  bubble  in  some  huff  : 
Since  green  too  found  red's  portrait,  —  having  heard 
Hitherto  of  red's  rare  self  not  one  word. 

S3.. 

And  he  with  zeal  addressed  him  to  the  task 

Of  hunting  out,  by  all  and  any  means, 
—  Who  might  the  brilliant  bard  be,  born  to  bask 

Butterfly-like  in  shine  which  kings  and  queens 
And  baby-dauphins  shed  ?     Much  need  to  ask  ! 

Is  fame  so  fickle  that  what  perks  and  preens 
The  eyed  wing,  one  imperial  minute,  dips 
Next  sudden  moment  into  blind  eclipse  ? 

54. 

After  a  vast  expenditure  of  pains. 

Our  second  poet  found  the  prize  he  sought : 

Urged  in  his  search  by  something  that  restrains 
From  undue  triumph  famed  ones  who  have  fought, 

Or  simply,  poetizing,  taxed  their  brains  : 

Something  that  tells  such  —  dear  is  triumph  bought 

If  it  means  only  basking  in  the  midst 

Of  fame's  brief  sunshine,  as  thou,  Rene,  didst ! 

55. 

For,  what  did  searching  find  at  last  but  this  ? 
Quoth  somebody,  "  I  somehow  somewhere  seem 


1/8  THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC. 

To  think  I  heard  one  old  De  Chevaye  is 

Or  was  possessed  of  Rene's  works  !  "  which  gleam 

Of  light  from  out  the  dark  proved  not  amiss 
To  track,  by  correspondence  on  the  theme  ; 

And  soon  the  twilight  broadened  into  day, 

For  thus  to  question  answered  De  Chevaye. 

56. 

"True  it  is,  I  did  once  possess  the  works 

You    want   account   of  —  works  —  to   call    them 
so,  — 

Comprised  in  one  small  book  :  the  volume  lurks 
(Some  fifty  leaves  ///  duodecimo) 

'Neath  certain  ashes  which  my  soul  it  irks 
Still  to  remember,  because  long  ago 

That  and  my  other  rare  shelf-occupants 

Perished  by  burning  of  my  house  at  Nantes. 

57- 

"  Yet  of  that  book  one  strange  particular 

Still  stays  in  mind  with  me  "  —  and  thereupon 

Followed  the  story.     "  Few  the  poems  are  ; 

The  book  was  two  thirds  filled  up  with  this  one, 

And  sundry  witnesses  from  near  and  far 
That  here  at  least  was  prophesying  done 

By  prophet,  so  as  to  preclude  all  doubt, 

Before  the  thing  he  prophesied  about." 


THE    TWO  POETS   OF  CROISIC.  1 79 

58. 
That 's  all  he  knew,  and  all  the  poet  learned, 

And  all  that  you  and  I  are  like  to  hear 
Of  Rene' ;  since  not  only  book  is  burned 

But  memory  extinguished,  —  nay,  I  fear, 
Portrait  is  gone  too  :  nowhere  I  discerned 

A  trace  of  it  at  Croisic.     "  Must  a  tear 
Needs  fall  for  that  ? "  you  smile.     "  How  fortune  fares 
With  such  a  mediocrity,  who  cares  ?  " 

59- 

Well,  I  care  —  intimately  care  to  have 

Experience  how  a  human  creature  felt 
In  after-life,  who  bore  the  burden  grave 

Of  certainly  believing  God  had  dealt 
For  once  directly  with  him  :  did  not  rave 

—  A  maniac,  did  not  find  his  reason  melt 
—  An  idiot,  but  went  on,  in  peace  or  strife. 
The  world's  way,  lived  an  ordinary  life. 

60. 

How  many  problems  that  one  fact  would  solve  ! 

An  ordinary  soul,  no  more,  no  less. 
About  whose  life  earth's  common  sights  revolve. 

On  whom  is  brought  to  bear,  by  thunder-stress, 
This  fact  —  God  tasks  him,  and  will  not  absolve 


l80  THE    TWO  POETS   OF  CROISIC. 

Task's  negligent  performer  !     Can  you  guess 
How  such  a  soul,  —  the  task  performed  to  point,  — 
Goes  back  to  life  nor  finds  things  out  of  joint  ? 

6i. 

Does  he  stand  stock-like  henceforth  ?  or  proceed 
Dizzily,  yet  with  course  straight-forward  still, 

Down-trampling  vulgar  hindrance  ?  —  as  the  reed 
Is  crushed  beneath  its  tramp  when  that  blind  will 

Hatched  in  some  old-world  beast's  brain  bids  it  speed 
Where  the  sun  wants  brute  presence  to  fulfil 

Life's  purpose  in  a  new  far  zone,  ere  ice 

Enwomb  the  pasture-tract  its  fortalice. 

62. 

I  think  no  such  direct  plain  truth  consists 

With  actual  sense  and  thought  and  what  they  take 

To  be  the  solid  walls  of  life  :  mere  mists  — 

How  such  would,  at  that  truth's  first  piercing,  break 

Into  the  nullity  they  are  !  —  slight  lists 

Wherein  the  puppet-champions  wage,  for  sake 

Of  some  mock-mistress,  mimic  war :  laid  low 

At  trumpet-blast,  there 's  shown  the  world,  one  foe  ! 

No,  we  must  play  the  pageant  out,  observe 
The  tourney-regulations,  and  regard 


THE   TTVO  POETS  OF  CROISIC.  l8l 

Success  —  to  meet  the  blunted  spear  nor  swerve, 
Failure  —  to  break  no  bones  yet  fall  on  sward  ; 

Must  prove  we  have  —  not   courage  ?   well   then,  — 
nerv^e  ? 
And,  at  the  day's  end,  boast  the  crown's  award  — 

I3e  warranted  as  promising  to  wield 

Weapons,  no  sham,  in  a  true  battle-field. 

64. 

Meantime,  our  simulated  thunderclaps 

Which  tell  us  counterfeited  truths  —  these  same 

Are  —  sound,  when  music  storms  the  soul,  perhaps  ? 
—  Sight,  beauty,  every  dart  of  every  aim 

That  touches  just,  then  seems,  by  strange  relapse, 
To  fall  effectless  from  the  soul  it  came 

As  if  to  fix  its  own,  but  simply  smote 

And  startled  to  vague  beauty  more  remote  ? 

65.        • 

So  do  we  gain  enough  —  yet  not  too  much  — 

Acquaintance  with  that  outer  element 
Wherein  there  's  operation  (call  it  such  !) 

Quite  of  another  kind  than  we  the  pent 
On  earth  are  proper  to  receive.     Our  hutch 

Lights  up  at  the  least  chink :  let  roof  be  rent  — 
How  inmates  huddle,  blinded  at  first  spasm, 
Cognizant  of  the  sun's  self  through  the  chasm  ! 


1 82  THE   TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC. 

66. 

Therefore,  who  knows  if  this  our  Rene's  quick 
Subsidence  from  as  sudden  noise  and  glare 

Into  oblivion  was  impolitic  ? 

No  doubt  his  soul  became  at  once  aware 

That,  after  prophecy,  the  rhyming- trick 
Is  poor  employment :  human  praises  scare 

Rather  than  soothe  ears  all  a-tingle  yet 

With  tones  few  hear  and  live,  but  none  forget. 

67. 

There  's  our  first  famous  poet !     Step  thou  forth 
Second  consummate  songster  !     See,  the  tongue 

Of  fire  that  typifies  thee,  owns  thy  worth 
In  yellow,  purple  mixed  its  green  among, 

No  pure  and  simple  resin  from  the  North, 
But  composite  with  virtues  that  belong 

To  Southern  culture !     Love  not  more  than  hate 

Helped  to  a  blaze  .  .  .  but  I  anticipate. 

68. 

Prepare  to  witness  a  combustion  rich 

And  riotously  splendid,  far  beyond 
Poor  Rene's  lambent  little  streamer  which 

Only  played  candle  to  a  Court  grown  fond 
By  baby-birth  :  this  soared  to  such  a  pitch, 


THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC.  1 83 

Alternately  such  colors  doffed  and  donned, 
That  when  I  say  it  dazzled  Paris  —  please 
Know  that  it  brought  Voltaire  upon  his  knees  ! 

69. 

Who  did  it.  was  a  dapper  gentleman, 

Paul  Desforges  Maillard,  Croisickese  by  birth, 

Whose  birth  that  century  ended  which  began 
By  similar  bestowment  on  our  earth 

Of  the  aforesaid  Rene.     Cease  to  scan 

The  ways  of  Providence  !     See  Croisic's  dearth  — 

Not  Paris  in  its  plenitude  —  suffice 

To  furnish  France  with  her  best  poet  twice  ! 

70. 

Till  he  was  thirty  years  of  age,  the  vein 
Poetic  yielded  rhyme  by  drops  and  spirts : 

In  verses  of  society  had  lain 

His  talent  chiefly ;  but  the  Muse  asserts 

Privilege  most  by  treating  with  disdain 

Epics  the  bard  mouths  out,  or  odes  he  blurts 

Spasmodically  forth.     Have  people  time 

And  patience  nowadays  for  thought  in  rhyme  ? 

71- 

SOj  his  achievements  were  the  quatrain's  inch 
Of  homage,  or  at  m.ost  the  sonnet's  ell 


184  THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC. 

Of  admiration  :  welded  lines  with  clinch 
Of  ending  word  and  word,  to  every  belle 

In  Croisic's  bounds  j  these,  brisk  as  any  finch. 
He  twittered  till  his  fame  had  reached  as  well 

Gue'rande  as   Batz  j  but   there  fame  stopped,  for  — 
curse 

On  fortune  —  outside  lay  the  universe  ! 

72. 

That 's  Paris.     Well,  —  why  not  break  bounds,  and 
send 

Song  onward  till  it  echo  at  the  gates 
Of  Paris  whither  all  ambitions  tend, 

And  end  too,  seeing  that  success  there  sates 
The  soul  which  hungers  most  for  fame  ?     Why  spend 

A  minute  in  deciding,  while,  by  Fate's 
Decree,  there  happens  to  be  just  the  prize 
Proposed  there,  suiting  souls  that  poetize  ? 

73. 
A  prize  indeed,  the  Academy's  own  self 

Proposes  to  what  bard  shall  best  indite 
A  piece  describing  how,  through  shoal  and  shelf, 

The  Art  of  Navigation,  steered  aright. 
Has,  in  our  last  king's  reign,  —  the  lucky  elf,  — 

Reached,  one  may  say.  Perfection's  haven  quite, 
And  there  cast  anchor.     At  a  glance  one  sees 
The  subject's  crowd  of  capabilities  ! 


THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC.  1 85 

74. 

Neptune  and  Amphitritd  !     Thetis,  who 
Is  either  Tethys  or  as  good  — both  tag! 

Triton  can  shove  along  a  vessel  too  : 

It 's  Virgil !     Then  the  winds  that  blow  or  lag,  — 

De  Maille,  Vendome,  Vermandois !     Toulouse  blew 
Longest,  we  reckon  :  he  must  puff  the  flag 

To  fullest  outflare  :  while  our  lacking  nymph 

Be  Anne  of  Austria,  Regent  o'er  the  lymph ! 

75- 
Promised,  performed  !     Since  irriiabilis  gens 

Holds  of  the  feverish  impotence  that  strives 
To  stay  an  itch  by  prompt  resource  to  pen's 

Scratching  itself  on  paper  :  placid  lives, 
Leisurely  works  mark  the  divinior  mens  : 

Bees  brood  above  the  honey  in  their  hives  ; 
Gnats  are  the  busy  bustlers.     Splash  and  scrawl,  — 
Completed  lay  thy  piece,  swift  penman  Paul ! 

76. 

To  Paris  with  the  product !     This  despatched, 
One  had  to  wait  the  Forty's  slow  and  sure 

Verdict,  as  best  one  might.     Our  penman  scratched 
Away  perforce  the  itch  that  knows  no  cure 

But  daily  paper-friction  :  more  than  matched 


1 86  THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC. 

His  first  feat  by  a  second  —  tribute  pure 
And  heartfelt  to  the  Forty  when  their  voice 
Should  peal  with  one  accord,  "  Be  Paul  our  choice  1 

77- 
Scratch,  scratch  went  much  laudation  of  that  sane 

And  sound  Tribunal,  delegates  august 
Of  Phoebus  and  the  Muses'  sacred  train  — 

Whom  every  poetaster  tries  to  thrust 
From  where,  high-throned,  they  dominate  the  Seine 

Fruitless  endeavor,  —  fail  it  shall  and  must ! 
Whereof  in  witness  have  not  one  and  all 
The  Forty  voices  pealed,  "  Our  choice  be  Paul  ?  " 

78. 

Thus  Paul  discounted  his  applause.     Alack 
For  human  expectation  !     Scarcely  ink 

Was  dry  when,  lo,  the  perfect  piece  came  back 
Rejected,  shamed  !     Some  other  poet's  clink 

"  Thetis  and  Tethys  "  had  seduced  the  pack 
Of  pedants  to  declare  perfection's  pink 

A  singularly  poor  production.     "  Whew  ! 

The  Forty  are  stark  fools,  I  always  knew  ! " 

79- 

First  fury  over  (for  Paul's  race  —  to-wit. 
Brain  vibrios  —  wriggle  clear  of  protoplasm 


THE  TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC.  1 87 

Into  minute  life  that 's  one  fury-fit), 

•'  These  fools  shall  find  a  bard's  enthusiasm 

Comports  with  what  should  counterbalance  it  — 
Some   knowledge  of  the  world  !      No  doubt,  or- 
gasm 

Effects  the  birth  of  verse  which,  born,  demands 

Prosaic  ministration,  swaddling-bands  ! 

80. 

"  Verse  must  be  cared  for  at  this  early  stage, 
Handled,  nay  dandled  even.     I  should  play 

Their  game  indeed  if,  till  it  grew  of  age, 
I  meekly  let  these  dotards  frown  away 

My  bantling  from  the  rightful  heritage 

Of  smiles  and  kisses  !     Let  the  public  say 

If  it  be  worthy  praises  or  rebukes. 

My  poem,  from  these  Forty  old  perukes  !  " 


So,  by  a  friend,  who  boasts  himself  in  grace 
With  no  less  than  the  Chevalier  La  Roque,  — 

Eminent  in  those  days  for  pride  of  place 
Seeing  he  had  it  in  his  power  to  block 

The  way  or  smooth  the  road  to  all  the  race 
Of  literators  trudging  up  to  knock 

At  Fame's  exalted  temple-door  —  for  why  ? 

He  edited  the  Paris  "  Mercury :  "  — 


1 88  THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC. 

82. 

By  this  friend's  help  the  Chevalier  receives 
Paul's  poem,  prefaced  by  the  due  appeal 

To  Cffisar  from  the  Jews.     As  duly  heaves 
A  sigh  the  Chevalier,  about  to  deal 

With  case  so  customary  —  turns  the  leaves, 
Finds  nothing  there  to  borrow,  beg  or  steal  — 

Then  brightens  up  the  critic's  brow  deep-lined. 

"  The  thing  may  be  so  cleverly  declined  ! " 

83. 
Down  to  desk,  out  with  paper,  up  with  quill, 

Dip  and  indite  !     "  Sir,  gratitude  immense 
For  this  true  draught  from  the  Pierian  rill  ! 

Our  Academic  clodpoles  must  be  dense 
Indeed  to  stand  unirrigated  still. 

No  less,  we  critics  dare  not  give  offence 
To  grandees  like  the  Forty :  while  we  mock, 
We   grin   and    bear.      So,    here  's    your  piece  !   La 
Roque." 

84. 

"  There  now  !  "  cries  Paul :  "  the  fellow  can't  avoid 
Confessing  that  my  piece  deserves  the  palm  ; 

And  yet  he  dares  not  grant  me  space  enjoyed 
By  every  scribbler  he  permits  embalm 


THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC.  1 89 

His  crambo  in  the  Journal's  corner  !     Cloyed 
With  stuff  like  theirs,  no  wonder  if  a  qualm 
Be   caused   by  verse   like   mine :    though   that 's   no 

cause 
For  his  defrauding  me  of  just  applause. 

85. 

"Aha,  he  fears  the  Forty,  this  poltroon  ? 

First  let  him  fear  me !     Change  smooth  speech  to 
rough ! 
I  '11  speak  my  mind  out,  show  the  fellow  soon 

Who  is  the  foe  to  dread  :  insist  enough 
On  my  own  merits  till,  as  clear  as  noon, 

He  sees  I  am  no  man  to  take  rebuff 
As  patiently  as  scribblers  may  and  must ! 
Quick  to  the  onslaught,  out  sword,  cut  and  thrust !  " 

86. 

And  thereupon  a  fierce  epistle  flings 

Its  challenge  in  the  critic's  face.     Alack  ! 

Our  bard  mistakes  his  man  !     The  gauntlet  rings 
On  brazen  visor  proof  against  attack. 

Prompt  from  his  editorial  throne  up  springs 

The  insulted  magnate,  and  his  mace  falls,  thwack, 

On  Paul's  devoted  brainpan,  —  quite  away 

From  common  courtesies  of  fencing-play  ! 


IQO  THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC. 

87. 

"  Sir,  will  you  have  the  truth  ?     This  piece  of  yours 

Is  simply  execrable  past  belief. 
I  shrank  from  saying  so  ;  but,  since  nought  cures 

Conceit  but  truth,  truth  's  at  your  service  !     Brief, 
Just  so  long  as  '  The  Mercury '  endures. 

So  long  are  you  excluded  by  its  Chief 

From  corner,  nay,  from  cranny !     Play  the  cock 

O'    the    roost,    henceforth,   at    Croisic ! "  wrote    La 

Roque. 

88. 

Paul  yellowed,  whitened,  as  his  wrath  from  red 
Waxed  incandescent.     Now,  this  man  of  rhyme 

Was  merely  foolish,  faulty  in  the  head 

Not  heart  of  him  :  conceit 's  a  venial  crime. 

"  Oh  by  no  means  malicious  !  "  cousins  said  : 
Fussily  feeble,  —  harmless  all  the  time. 

Piddling  at  so-called  satire  —  well-advised 

He  held  in  most  awe  whom  he  satirized. 

89. 

Accordingly  his  kith  and  kin  —  removed 

From  emulation  of  the  poet's  gift 
By  power  and  will  —  these  rather  liked,  nay,  loved 

The  man  who  gave  his  family  a  lift 
Out  of  the  Croisic  level  j  disapproved 


THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC.  191 

Satire  so  trenchant,  —  still  our  poet  sniffed 
Home-incense,  —  though  too  churlish  to  unlock 
"  The  Mercury's  "  box  of  ointment  proved  La  Roque. 

90. 

But  when  Paul's  visage  grew  from  red  to  white, 
And  from  his  lips  a  sort  of  mumbling  fell 

Of  who  was  to  be  kicked,  —  "  And  ser\-e  him  right !  " 
A  soft  voice  interposed,  "  Did  kicking  well 

Answer  the  purpose  !     Only  —  if  I  might 
Suggest  as  much  —  a  far  more  potent  spell 

Lies  in  another  kind  of  treatment.     Oh, 

Women  are  ready  at  resource,  you  know  ! 

91. 

"  Talent  should  minister  to  genius  !  good  : 
The  proper  and  superior  smile  returns. 

Hear  me  with  patience  !     Have  you  understood 
The  only  method  whereby  genius  earns 

His  guerdon  nowadays  ?     In  knightly  mood 
You  entered  lists  with  visor  up  ;  one  learns 

Too  late  that,  had  you  mounted  Roland's  crest, 

'  Room  ! '  they  had  roared  —  La  Roque  with  alf  the. 

rest ! 

92. 

'•Why  did  you  first  of  all  transmit  your  piece 
To  those  same  priggish  Forty  unprepared 


192  THE   TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC. 

Whether  to  rank  you  with  the  swans  or  geese 
By  friendly  interv'ention  ?     If  they  dared 

Count  you  a  cackler,  —  wonders  never  cease  ! 
I  think  it  still  more  wondrous  that  you  bared 

Your  brow  (my  earlier  image)  as  if  praise 

Were  gained  by  simple  fighting  nowadays  ! 

93- 

"  Your  next  step  showed  a  touch  of  the  true  means 
Whereby  desert  is  crowned  :  not  force  but  wile 

Came  to  the  rescue.     '  Get  behind  the  scenes  ! ' 

Your   friend    advised  :    he  writes,   sets   forth  your 
style 

And  title,  to  such  purpose  inten'enes 

That  you  get  velvet-compliment  three-pile  ; 

And,  though  'The  Mercury'  said  'nay,'  nor  stock 

Nor  stone  did  his  refusal  prove  La  Roque. 

94. 

"  \^Tiy  must  you  needs  revert  to  the  high  hand, 

Imperative  procedure  —  what  you  call 
*  Taking  on  merit  your  exclusive  stand  ? ' 

Stand,  with  a  vengeance  !     Soon  you  went  to  wall, 
You  and  your  merit !     Only  fools  command 

When  folks  are  free  to  disobey  them,  Paul  ! 
You  've  learnt  your  lesson,  found  out  what 's  o'clock, 
By  this  uncivil  answer  of  La  Roque. 


THE   TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC.  193 

95- 

"  Now  let  me  counsel  !     Lay  this  piece  on  shelf 
—  Masterpiece  though  it  be  !     From  out  your  desk 

Hand  me  some  lighter  sample,  verse  the  elf 
Cupid  inspired  you  with,  no  god  grotesque 

Presiding  o'er  the  Navy  !     I  myself 

Hand-write  what 's  legible  yet  picturesque  ; 

I  '11  copy  fair  and  femininely  frock 

Your  poem  masculine  that  courts  La  Roque  ! 

96. 

"  Deidamia  he  —  Achilles  thou  ! 

Ha,  ha,  these  ancient  stories  come  so  apt  ! 
My  sex,  my  youth,  my  rank  I  next  avow 

In  a  neat  prayer  for  kind  perusal.     Sapped 
I  see  the  walls  which  stand  so  stoutly  now  ! 

I  see  the  toils  about  the  game  entrapped 
By  honest  cunning  !     Chains  of  lady's-smock, 
Not  thorn  and  thistle,  tether  fast  La  Roque  ! " 

97- 
Now,  who  might  be  the  speaker  sweet  and  arch 

That  laughed  above  Paul's  shouldq|  as  it  heaved 
With  the  indignant  heart  ?  —  bade  steal  a  march 

And  not  continue  charging  ?     Who  conceived 
This  plan  which  set  our  Paul,  like  pea  you  parch 


194  "^HE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC. 

On  fire-shovel,  skipping,  of  a  load  relieved, 
From  arm-chair  moodiness  to  escritoire 
Sacred  to  Phoebus  and  the  tuneful  choir  ? 

98. 

Who  but  Paul's  sister !  named  of  course  like  him 
"  Desforges  "  ;  but,  mark  you,  in  those  days  a  queer 

Custom   obtained, — who    knows   whence    grew    the 
whim  ?  — 
That  people  could  not  read  their  title  clear 

To  reverence  till  their  own  true  names,  made  dim 
By  daily  mouthing,  pleased  to  disappear, 

Replaced  by  brand-new  bright  ones  :  Arouet, 

For  instance,  grew  Voltaire,  Desforges  —  Malcrais. 

99. 

"  Demoiselle  Malcrais  de  la  Vigne  "  —  because 

The  family  possessed  at  Brederac 
A  vineyard,  —  few  grapes,  many  hips  and  haws,  — 

Still  a  nice  Breton  name.     As  breast  and  back 
Of  this  vivacious  beauty  gleamed  through  gauze, 

So  did  her  sprightly  nature  nowise  lack 
Lustre  when  draped,  the  fashionable  way, 
In  "  Malcrais  de4a  Vigne  "  —  more  short,  "  Malcrais." 


Out  from  Paul's  escritoire  behold  escape 

The  hoarded  treasure  !  verse  falls  thick  and  fast. 


THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC.  1 95 

Sonnets  and  songs  of  every  size  and  shape. 

The  lady  ponders  on  her  prize  ;  at  last 
Selects  one  which  —  Oh  angel  and  yet  ape  !  — 

Her  malice  thinks  is  probably  surpassed 
In  badness  by  no  fellow  of  the  flock, 
Copies  it  fair,  and  "  Now  for  my  La  Roque  ! " 


So,  to  him  goes,  with  the  neat  manuscript, 
The  soft  petitionary  letter.     "  Grant 

A  fledgeling  novice  that  with  wing  unclipt 
She  soar  her  little  circuit,  habitant 

Of  an  old  manor ;  buried  in  which  crypt, 
How  can  the  youthful  chatelaine  but  pant 

For  disemprisonment  by  one  ad  hoc 

Appointed  '  Mercury  's  '  Editor,  La  Roque  ?  " 


'T  was  an  epistle  that  might  move  the  Turk  ! 

More  certainly  it  moved  our  middle-aged 
Pen-driver  drudging  at  his  w^eary  work. 

Raked  the  old  ashes  up  and  disengaged 
The  sparks  of  gallantry  which  always  lurk 

Somehow  in  literary  breasts,  assuaged 
In  no  degree  by  compliments  on  style  ; 
Are  Forty  wagging  beards  worth  one  girl's  smile  ? 


196  THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC. 

103. 

In  trips  the  lady's  poem,  takes  its  place 

Of  honor  in  the  gratified  Gazette, 
With  due  acknowledgment  of  power  and  grace  ; 

Prognostication,  too,  that  higher  yet 
The  Breton  Muse  will  soar :  fresh  youth,  high  race, 

Beauty  and  wealth  have  amicably  met 
That  Demoiselle  Malcrais  may  fill  the  chair 
Left  vacant  by  the  loss  of  Deshoulieres. 

104. 

*'  There  !  "  cried  the  lively  lady,  "  Who  was  right  — 
You  in  the  dumps,  or  I  the  merry  maid 

Who  know  a  trick  or  two  can  bafifle  spite 
Tenfold  the  force  of  this  old  fool's  ?     Afraid 

Of  Editor  La  Roque  ?     But  come  !  next  flight 
Shall  outsoar —  Deshoulieres  alone  ?     My  blade, 

Sappho  herself  shall  you  confess  outstript ! 

Quick,  Paul,  another  dose  of  manuscript !  " 

los- 

And  so,  once  well  a-foot,  advanced  the  game  : 
More  and  more  verses,  corresponding  gush 

On  gush  of  praise,  till  everywhere  acclaim 

Rose  to  the  pitch  of  uproar.     "  Sappho  ?     Tush  ! 

Sure  '  Malcrais  on  her  Parrot '  puts  to  shame 


THE    TWO  rOETS  OF  CROISIC.  IC^J 

Deshoulieres'  pastorals,  clay  not  worth  a  rush 
Beside  this  find  of  treasure,  gold  in  crock, 
Unearthed  in  Brittany,  —  nay,  ask  La  Roque  !  " 

io6. 

Such  was  the  Paris  tribute.     "Yes,"  you  sneer, 
"  Ninnies  stock  Noodledom,  but  folks  more  sage 

Resist  contagious  folly,  never  fear  !  " 

Do  they?     Permit  me  to  detach  one  page 

From  the  huge  Album  which  from  far  and  near 
Poetic  praises  blackened  in  a  rage 

Of  rapture  !  and  that  page  shall  be  —  who  stares 

Confounded  now,  I  ask  you  ?  — just  Voltaire's  ! 

107. 

Ay,  sharpest  shrewdest  steel  that  ever  stabbed 
To  death  Imposture  through  the  armor-joints  ! 

How  did  it  happen  that  gross  Humbug  grabbed 

Thy  weapons,  gouged   thine   eyes  out  ?     Fate  ap- 
points 

That  pride  shall  have  a  fall,  or  I  had  blabbed 
Hardly  that  Humbug,  whom  thy  soul  aroints. 

Could  thus  cross-buttock  thee  caught  unawares. 

And  dismalest  of  tumbles  proved — Voltaire's! 

108. 

See  his  epistle  extant  yet,  wherewith 

"  Henri "  in  verse  and  "  Charles  "  in  prose  he  sent 


198  THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC. 

To  do  her  suit  and  service  !     Here  's  the  pith 
Of  half  a  dozen  stanzas  —  stones  which  went 

To  build  that  simulated  monolith  — 

Sham  love  in  due  degree  with  homage  blent 

As  sham  —  which  in  the  vast  of  volumes  scares 

The  traveller  still :  "  That  stucco-heap  —  Voltaire's  ? " 

109. 

"  Oh  thou,  whose  clarion-voice  has  overflown 
The  wilds  to  startle  Paris  that 's  one  ear  ! 

Thou  who  such  strange  capacity  hast  shown 

For  joining  all  that 's  grand  with  all  that 's  dear, 

Knowledge    with    power    to    please  —  Deshoulieres 
grown 
Learned  as  Dacier  in  thy  person  !  mere 

Weak  fruit  of  idle  hours,  these  crabs  of  mine 

I  dare  lay  at  thy  feet,  O  Muse  divine ! 

no. 

"  Charles  was  my  task-work  only  ;  Henri  trod 
My  hero  forth,  and  now,  my  heroine  —  she 

Shall  be  thyself  !     True  —  is  it  true,  great  God  ? 
Certainly  love  henceforward  must  not  be  ! 

Yet  all  the  crowd  of  Fine  Arts  fail  —  how  odd  !  — 
Tried  turn  by  turn,  to  fill  a  void  in  me ! 

There  's  no  replacing  love  with  these,  alas  ! 

Yet  all  I  can  I  do  to  prove  no  ass. 


THE   TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC.  1 99 


"  I  labor  to  amuse  my  freedom  ;  but 

Should  any  sweet  young  creature  slavery  preach, 
And  — borrowing  thy  vivacious  charm,  the  slut !  — 

Make  me,  in  thy  engaging  words,  a  speech, 
Soon  should  I  see  myself  in  prison  shut 

With  all  imaginable  pleasure."     Reach 
The  washhandbasin  for  admirers  1     There  's 
A  stomach-moving  tribute  —  and  Voltaire's  ! 


Suppose  it  a  fantastic  billet-doux, 

Adulatory  flourish,  not  worth  frown  ! 
What  say  you  to  the  Fathers  of  Trevoux  ? 

These  in  their  Dictionary  have  her  down 
Under  the  heading  "  Author  "  :  "  Malcrais,  too, 

Is  'Author'  of  much  verse  that  claims  renown." 
While  Jean-Baptiste  Rousseau  .  .  .  but  why  proceed  ? 
Enough  of  this  —  something  too  much,  indeed  ! 

113- 

At  last  La  Roque,  unwilling  to  be  left 
Behindhand  in  the  rivalry,  broke  bounds 

Of  figurative  passion  ;  hilt  and  heft, 

Plunged  his  huge  downright  love  through  what  sur 
rounds 


200  THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC. 

The  literary  female  bosom  ;  reft 

Away  its  veil  of  coy  reserve  with  "  Zounds  ! 
I  love  thee,  Breton  Beauty  !    All 's  no  use  ! 
Body  and  soul  I  love,  —  the  big  word  's  loose  !  " 

114. 

He  'j  greatest  now  and  to  dc-stnu-ti-on 

Nearest.     Attend  the  solemn  word  I  quote, 

Oh  Paul  !     There  'x  no  pause  at  per-fec-ti-on. 

Thy    knell    thus    knolls    the    Doctor's    bronzed 
throat ! 

Greatness  a  period  hath,  710  sta-ti-on  I 
Better  and  truer  verse  none  ever  wrote 

(Despite  the  antique  outstretched  a-i-07i) 

Than  thou,  revered  and  magisterial  Donne  ! 

115- 
Flat    on    his    face,    La    Roque,    and,  —  pressed   to 
heart 
His  dexter  hand,  — Voltaire  with  bended  knee  ! 
Paul  sat  and  sucked-in  triumph  ;  just  apart 

Leaned   over   him    his    sister.      "  Well  ?  "    smirks 
he, 
And  "Well?"  she  answers,  smiling  —  woman's  art 

To  let  a  man's  own  mouth,  not  her's,  decree 
What  shall  be  next  move  which  decides  the  game  : 
Success  ?     She  said  so.     Failure  ?     His  the  blame. 


THE   TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC.  201 


"  Well !  "  this  time  forth  affirmatively  comes 
With  smack  of   Up,  and  long-drawn  sigh  through 
teeth 

Close  clenched  o'er  satisfaction,  as  the  gums 
Were  tickled  by  a  sweetmeat  teazed  beneath 

Palate  by  lubricating  tongue  :  "  Well !  crums 
Of  comfort  these,  undoubtedly  !  no  death 

Likely  from  famine  at  Fame's  feast !  't  is  clear 

I  may  put  claim  in  for  my  pittance,  Dear  ! 

117- 

"  La  Roque,  Voltaire,  my  lovers  ?     Then  disguise 
Has  served  its  turn,  grows  idle  ;   let  it  drop  ! 

I  shall  to  Paris,  flaunt  there  in  men's  eyes 
My  proper  manly  garb  and  mount  a-top 

The  pedestal  that  waits  me,  take  the  prize 
Awarded  Hercules  !     He  threw  a  sop 

To  Cerberus  who  let  him  pass,  you  know, 

Then,  following,  licked  his  heels  :  exactly  so  ! 

ii8. 

"  I  like  the  prospect  —  their  astonishment. 
Confusion  :  wounded  vanity,  no  doubt. 

Mixed  motives  ;  how  I  see  the  brows  quick  bent ! 
'  What,  sir,  yourself,  none  other,  brought  about 


202  THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC. 

This  change  of  estimation  ?     Phoebus  sent 
His  shafts  as  from  Diana  ?     Critic  pout 
Turns  courtier  smile  :  '  Lo,  him  we  took  for  her ! 
Pleasant  mistake  !     You  bear  no  malice,  sir  ? ' 

119. 

"  Eh,  my  Diana  ? "     But  Diana  kept 
Smilingly  silent  with  fixed  needle-sharp 

Much-meaning  eyes  that  seemed  to  intercept 
Paul's  very  thoughts  ere  they  had  time  to  warp 

From  earnest  into  sport  the  words  they  leapt 

To    life    with  —  changed    as    when    maltreated 
harp 

Renders  in  tinkle  what  some  player-prig 

Means  for  a  grave  tune  though  it  proves  a  jig. 


"What,    Paul,    and    are    my    pains    thus    thrown 
aw-ay, 

My  lessons  perfect  loss  ?"  at  length  fall  slow 
The  pit}-ing  syllables,  her  lips  allay 

The  satire  of  by  keeping  in  full  flow, 
Above  their  coral  reef,  bright  smiles  at  play : 

"  Can  it  be,  Paul  thus  fails  to  rightly  know 
And  altogether  estimate  applause 
As  just  so  many  asinine  he  haws  ? 


THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC.  203 

121. 

"  I  thought  to  show  you  "  .  .  .  "  Show  me,"  Paul  in- 
broke 

"  My  poetry  is  rubbish,  and  the  world 
That  rings  with  my  renown  a  sorry  joke  ! 

What  fairer  test  of  worth  than  that,  form  furled, 
I  entered  the  arena  ?     Yet  you  croak 

Just  as  if  Phoebe  and  not  Phoebus  hurled 
The  dart  and  struck  the  Python  !     What,  he  crawls 
Humbly  in  dust  before  your  feet,  not  Paul's  ? 


"  Nay,  't  is  no  laughing  matter  thoifgh  absurd 
If  there  's  an  end  of  honesty  on  earth  ! 

La  Roque  sends  letters,  lying  every  word  ! 

Voltaire  makes  verse,  and  of  himself  makes  mirth 

To  the  remotest  age  !     Rousseau  's  the  third 
Who,  driven  to  despair  amid  such  dearth 

Of  people  that  want  praising,  finds  no  one 

More  fit  to  praise  than  Paul  the  simpleton  ! 

123. 

"  Somebody  says  —  if  a  man  writes  at  all 
It  is  to  show  the  writer's  kith  and  kin 

He  was  unjustly  thought  a  natural ; 
And  truly,  sister,  I  have  yet  to  win 


204  THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC. 

Your  favorable  word,  it  seems,  for  Paul 

Whose  poetry  you  count  not  worth  a  pin 
Though  well  enough  esteemed  by  these  Voltaires, 
Rousseaus    and    suchlike :    let    them    quack,    who 
cares  ? " 

124. 

"  —  To    Paris    with    you,    Paul  !     Not    one   word's 
waste 

Further  :  my  scrupulosity  was  vain  ! 
Go  triumph  !     Be  my  foolish  fears  effaced 

From  memory's  record  !     Go,  to  come  again 
With  glory  crowned,  —  by  sister  reembraced, 

Cured  of  that  strange  delusion  of  her  brain 
Which  led  her  to  suspect  that  Paris  gloats 
On  male  limbs  mostly  v;hcn  in  petticoats  ! " 

125. 

So  laughed  her  last  word,  with  the  little  touch 
Of  malice  proper  to  the  outraged  pride 

Of  any  artist  in  a  work  too  much 

Shorn  of  its  merits.     "  By  all  means,  be  tried 

The  opposite  procedure  !     Cast  your  crutch 
Away,  no  longer  crippled,  nor  divide 

The  credit  of  your  march  to  the  World's  Fair 

With  sister  Cherry-cheeks  who  helped  you  there  !  " 


THE    TWO  PORTS  OF  CROISIC.  205 

126. 

Crippled,  forsooth  !  what  courser  sprightlier  pranced 
Paris-ward  than  did  Paul  ?    Nay,  dreams  lent  wings  : 

He  flew,  or  seemed  to  fly,  by  dreams  entranced. 
Dreams  ?  wide-awake  realities  :  no  things 

Dreamed  merely  were  the  missives  that  advanced 
The  claim  of  Malcrais  to  consort  with  kings 

Crowned  by  Apollo  —  not  to  say  with  queens 

Cinctured  by  Venus  for  Idalian  scenes. 

127. 

Soon  he  arrives,  forthwith  is  found  before 

The  outer  gate  of  glory.     Bold  tic-toe 
Announces  there  's  a  giant  at  the  door, 

"  Ay,  sir,  here  dwells  the  Chevalier  La  Roque." 
"  Lackey !     Malcrais,  —  mind,    no     word    less     nor 
more  !  — 

Desires  his  presence.     I  've  unearthed  the  brock  : 
Now,  to  transfix  him  !  "     There  stands  Paul  erect, 
Inched  out  his  uttermost,  for  more  effect. 

128. 

A  bustling  entrance  :  "  Idol  of  my  flame  ! 

Can  it  be  that  my  heart  attains  at  last 
Its  longing  ?  that  you  stand,  the  very  same 

As  in  my  visions  ?  .  .  .  Ha  !  hey,  how  ?  "  aghast 


206  THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC. 

Stops  short  the  rapture.     "  Oh,  my  boy 's  to  blame  ! 

You  merely  are  the  messenger !     Too  fast 
My  fancy  rushed  to  a  conclusion.     Pooh  ! 
Well,  sir,  the  lady's  substitute  is  —  who  ?  " 

129. 

Then  Paul's  smirk  grows  inordinate.     "  Shake  hands  ! 

Friendship  not  love  awaits  you,  master  mine, 
Though  nor  Malcrais  nor  any  mistress  stands 

To  meet  your  ardor !     So,  you  don't  divine 
Who  wrote  the  verses  wherewith  ring  the  land's 

Wliole  length  and  breadth  ?    Just  he  whereof  no  line 
Had  ever  leave  to  blot  your  Journal  —  eh  ? 
Paul  Desforges  Maillard  —  otherwise  Malcrais  !  " 


130. 

And  there  the  two  stood,  stare  confronting  smirk, 
Awhile  uncertain  which  should  yield  the/aj. 

In  vain  the  Chevalier  beat  brain  for  quirk 

To  help  in  this  conjuncture  ;  at  length  "  Bah  ! 

Boh  !     Since  I  've  made  myself  a  fool,  why  shirk 
The  punishment  of  folly  .'     Ha,  ha,  ha, 

Let  me  return  your  handshake  !  "     Comic  sock 

For  tragic  buskin  prompt  thus  changed  La  Roque. 

131. 

"  I  'm  nobody  —  a  wren-like  journalist ; 

You  've  flown  at  higher  game  and  winged  your  bird, 


THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC.  20/ 

The  golden  eagle  !     That 's  the  grand  acquist ! 

Voltaire's  sly  Muse,  the  tiger-cat,  has  purred 
Prettily  round  your  feet ;  but  if  she  missed 

Priority  of  stroking,  soon  were  stirred 
The  dormant  spit-fire.     To  Voltaire  !  away, 
Paul  Desforges  Maillard,  otherwise  Malcrais  I  " 

132. 

Whereupon,  arm  in  arm,  and  head  in  air, 
The  two  begin  their  journey.     Need  I  say. 

La  Roque  had  felt  the  talon  of  Voltaire, 
Had  a  long-standing  little  debt  to  pay, 

And  pounced,  you  may  depend,  on  such  a  rare 
Occasion  for  its  due  discharge  ?     So,  gay 

And  grenadier-like,  marching  to  assault, 

They  reach  the  enemy's  abode,  there  halt. 

"  I  '11  be  announcer  !  "  quoth  La  Roque  :  "  I  know. 
Better  than  you,  perhaps,  my  Breton  bard, 

How  to  procure  an  audience  !     He  's  not  slow 
To  smell  a  rat,  this  scamp  Voltaire  !     Discard 

The  petticoats  too  soon,  — you  '11  never  show 

Your  haut-dc-chausses   and   all    they  've    made    or 
marred 

In  your  true  person.     Here  's  his  sen-ant.     Pray, 

Will  the  great  man  see  Demoiselle  Malcrais  ?  " 


208  THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISTC. 

134- 
Now,  the  great  man  was  also,  no  whit  less, 

The  man  of  self-respect,  —  more  great  man  he  ! 
And  bowed  to  social  usage,  dressed  the  dress, 

And  decorated  to  the  fit  degree 
His  person  ;  'twas  enough  to  bear  the  stress 

Of  battle  in  the  field,  without,  when  free 
From  outside  foes,  inviting  friends'  attack 
By  —  sword  in  hand?     No,  ill-made  coat  on  back. 

135- 
And,  since  the  announcement  of  his  visitor 

Surprised  him  at  his  toilet,  —  never  glass 
Had  such  solicitation  !     "  Black,  now  —  or 

Brown  be  the  killing  wig  to  wear  ?     Alas, 
Where  's  the  rouge  gone,  this  cheek  were  better  for 

A  tender  touch  of  ?  Melted  to  a  mass. 
All  my  pomatum  !  There  's  at  all  events 
A  devil  —  for  he  's  got  among  my  scents  !  " 

136. 

So,  "  barbered  ten  times  o'er,"  as  Antony 

Paced  to  his  Cleopatra,  did  at  last 
Voltaire  proceed  to  the  fair  presence  :  high 

In  color,  proud  in  port,  as  if  a  blast 
Of  trumpet  bade  the  world  "  Take  note  !  draws  nigh 


THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC.  209 

To  Beauty,  Power !     Behold  the  Iconoclast, 
The  Poet,  the  Philosopher,  the  Rod 
Of  iron  for  imposture  !     Ah  my  God  !  " 

137- 
For  there   stands   smirking   Paul,  and  —  what  lights 
fierce 
The  situation  as  with  sulphur  flash  — 
There   grinning   stands   La   Roque  !     No   carte-and- 
tierce 
Observes  the  grinning  fencer,  but,  full  dash 
From   breast    to   shoulderblade,    the    thrusts    trans- 
pierce 
That  armor  against  which  so  idly  clash 
The  swords  of  priests  and  pedants  !     Victors  there. 
Two  smirk  and  grin  who  have  befooled  —  Voltaire  ! 

138. 

A  moment's  horror  ;  then  quick  turn-about 

On  high-heeled  shoe,  —  flurry  of  ruffles,  flounce 

Of  wig-ties  and  of  coat-tails,  —  and  so  out 

Of  door  banged  wrathfully  behind,  goes  — bounce  — 

Voltaire  in  tragic  exit !  vows,  no  doubt. 

Vengeance  upon  the  couple.     Did  he  trounce 

Either,  in  point  of  fact  ?     His  anger's  flash 

Subsided  if  a  culprit  craved  his  cash. 
14 


2IO  THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC. 

139- 

As  for  La  Roque,  he  having  laughed  his  laugh 
To  heart's  content,  —  the  joke  defunct  at  once, 

Dead  in  the  birth,  you  see,  —  its  epitaph 

Was  sober  earnest.     "  Well,  sir,  for  the  nonce, 

You  've  gained  the  laurel  ;  never  hope  to  graff 
A  second  sprig  of  triumph  there  !     Ensconce 

Yourself   again  at  Croisic  :  let  it  be 

Enough  you  mastered  both  Voltaire  and  —  me  ! 

140. 

"  Don't  linger  here  in  Paris  to  parade 

Your  victory,  and  have  the  very  boys 
Point  at  you  !     '  There  's  the  little  mouse  which  made 

Believe  those  two  big  lions  that  its  noise, 
Nibbling  away  behind  the  hedge,  conveyed 

Intelligence  that  —  portent  which  destroys 
All  courage  in  the  lion's  heart,  with  horn 
That 's  fable  —  there  lay  couched  the  unicorn  ! ' 

141. 

"  Beware  us,  now  we  've  found  who  fooled  us  !    Quick 
To  cover  !     '  In  proportion  to  men's  fright. 

Expect  their  fright's  revenge  ! '  quoth  politic 
Old  Macchiavelli.     As  for  me,  —  all 's  right : 

I  'm  but  a  journalist.     But  no  pin's  prick 


THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CKOISIC.  211 

The  tooth  leaves  when  Voltaire  is  roused  to  bite  ! 
So,  keep  your  counsel,  I  advise  !     Adieu  ! 
Good  journey  !     Ha,  ha,  ha,  Malcrais  was  —  you  !  " 

142. 

"  —  Yes,  I  'm  Malcrais,  and  somebody  beside, 
You  snickering  monkey  !  "  thus  winds  up  the  tale 

Our  hero,  safe  at  home,  to  that  black-eyed 
Cherry-cheeked  sister,  as  she  soothes  the  pale 

Mortified  poet.     "  Let  their  worst  be  tried, 

I  'm  their  match  henceforth  — ver}'  man  and  male ! 

Don't  talk  to  me  of  knocking-under  !  man 

And  male  must  end  what  petticoats  began  1 

143- 
"  How  woman-like  it  is  to  apprehend 

The  world  will  eat  its  words  !  why,  words  transfixed 
To  stone,  they  stare  at  you  in  print,  —  at  end, 

Each  writer's  st}-le  and  title  !     Choose  betwixt 
Fool  and  knave  for  his  name,  who  should  intend 

To  perpetrate  a  baseness  so  unmixed 
With  prospect  of  advantage  !     What  is  writ 
Is  writ :  they  've  praised  me,  there  's  an  end  of  it ! 

144. 

"  No,  Dear,  allow  me  !     I  shall  print  these  same 
Pieces,  with  no  omitted  line,  as  Paul's. 


212  THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC. 

Malcrais  no  longer,  let  me  see  folks  blame 

What  they  —  praised  simply  ?  —  placed  on  pedestals, 

Each  piece  a  statue  in  the  House  of  Fame  ! 

Fast  will  they  stand  there,  though  their  presence 
galls 

The  envious  crew  :  such  show  their  teeth,  perhaps, 

And  snarl,  but  never  bite  !     I  know  the  chaps  !  " 

145- 
Oh  Paul,  oh  piteously  deluded  !     Pace 

Thy  sad  sterility  of  Croisic  flats. 
Watch,  from  their  southern  edge,  the  foamy  race 

Of  high-tide  as  it  heaves  the  drowning  mats 
Of  yellow-berried  web-growth  from  their  place. 

The  rock-ridge,  when,  rolling  as  far  as  Batz, 
One  broadside  crashes  on  it,  and  the  crags. 
That  needle  under,  stream  with  weedy  rags  ! 

146. 

Or,  if  thou  wilt,  at  inland  Bergerac, 

Rude  heritage  but  recognized  domain, 
Do  as  two  here  are  doing  :  make  hearth  crack 

With  logs  until  thy  chimney  roar  again 
Jolly  with  fire-glow !     Let  its  angle  lack 

No  grace  of  Cherry-cheeks  thy  sister,  fain 
To  do  a  sister's  office  and  laugh  smooth 
Thy  corrugated  brow  —  that  scowls  forsooth  ! 


THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC.  213 

147. 

Wherefore  ?    Who  does  not  know  how  these  La  Roques, 
Voltaires,  can  say  and  unsay,  praise  and  blame, 

Prove  black  white,  white  black,  play  at  paradox 
And,  when  they  seem  to  lose  it,  win  the  game  ? 

Care  not  thou  what  this  badger,  and  that  fox. 
His  fellow  in  rascality,  call  "fame  !  " 

Fiddlepin's   end  !     Thou   hadst    it,  —  quack,  quack, 
quack  ! 

Have  quietude  from  geese  at  Bergerac ! 


Quietude  !     For,  be  very  sure  of  this  ! 

A  twelvemonth  hence,  and  men  shall  know  or  care 
As  much  for  what  to-day  they  clap  or  hiss 

As  for  the  fashion  of  the  wigs  they  wear. 
Then  wonder  at.    There 's  fame  which,  bale  or  bliss,  — 

Got  by  no  gracious  word  of  great  Voltaire 
Or  not-so-great  La  Roque,  —  is  taken  back 
By  neither,  any  more  than  Bergerac 

149. 

Too  true  !  or  rather,  true  as  ought  to  be  ! 

No  more  of  Paul  the  man,  Malcrais  the  maid, 
Thenceforth  forever !     One  or  two,  I  see, 

Stuck  by  their  poet :  who  the  longest  stayed 


214  ^-^^    ^^^O  POETS  OF  CROISIC. 

Was  Jean-Baptiste  Rousseau,  and  even  he 
Seemingly  saddened  as  perforce  he  paid 
A  rhyming  tribute  "  After  death,  survive  — 
He  hoped  he  should  :  and  died  while  yet  alive  ! " 

150. 

No,  he  hoped  nothing  of  the  kind,  or  held 
His  peace  and  died  in  silent  good  old  age. 

Him  it  was,  curiosity  impelled 

To  seek  if  there  were  extant  still  some  page 

Of  his  great  predecessor,  rat  who  belled 

The  cat  once,  and  would  never  deign  engage 

In  after-combat  with  mere  mice,  —  saved  from 

More  sonnetteering,  —  Rene  Gentilhomme. 

151- 
Paul's  story  furnished  forth  that  famous  play 

Of  Piron's  "  Metromanie  "  :  there  you  '11  find 
He  's  Francaleu,  while  Demoiselle  Malcrais 

Is  Demoiselle  No-end-of-names-behind ! 
As  for  Voltaire,  he  's  Damis.     Good  and  gay 

The  plot  and  dialogue,  and  all 's  designed 
To  spite  Voltaire  :  at  "  Something  "  such  the  laugh 
Of  simply  "  Nothing  !  "  (see  his  epitaph.) 

152. 

But  truth,  truth,  that 's  the  gold  !  and  all  the  good 
I  find  in  fancy  is,  it  serves  to  set 


THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC.  2\$ 

Gold's  inmost  glint  free,  gold  which  comes  up  rude 
And  rayless  from  the  mine.     All  fume  and  fret 

Of  artistr)'  beyond  this  point  pursued 
Brings  out  another  sort  of  burnish  :  yet 

Always  the  ingot  has  its  very  own 

Value,  a  sparkle  struck  from  truth  alone. 

153- 
Now,  take  this  sparkle  and  the  other  spirt 

Of  fitful  flame,  —  twin  births  of  our  grey  brand 
That 's  sinking  fast  to  ashes  !     I  assert. 

As  sparkles  want  but  fuel  to  expand 
Into  a  conflagration  no  mere  squirt 

Will  quench  too  quickly,  so  might  Croisic  strand, 
Had  Fortune  pleased  posterity  to  chowse, 
Boast  of  her  brace  of  beacons  luminous. 

154. 
Did  earlier  Agamemnons  lack  their  bard  ? 

But  later  bards  lacked  Agamemnons  too  ! 
How  often  frustrate  they  of  fame's  award 

Just  because  Fortune,  as  she  listed,  blew 
Some   slight   bark's    sails   to    bellying,   mauled    and 
marred 

And  forced  to  put  about  the  First-rate  !  True, 
Such  tacks  but  for  a  time :  still  —  small-craft  ride 
At  anchor,  rot  while  Beddoes  breasts  the  tide  ! 


2l6  THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC. 

155- 
Dear,  shall  I  tell  you  ?     There  's  a  simple  test 

Would  serve,  when  people  take  on  them  to  weigh 
The  worth  of  poets,  "  Who  was  better,  best, 

This,  that,  the  other  bard  ? "  (bards  none  gainsay 
As  good,  observe  !  no  matter  for  the  rest) 

"  What  quality  preponderating  may 
Turn  the  scale  as  it  trembles  ?"     End  the  strife 
By  asking,  "  Which  one  led  a  happy  life  ?  " 

156. 

If  one  did,  over  his  antagonist 

That  yelled  or  shrieked  or  sobbed  or  wept  or  wailed 
Or  simply  had  the  dumps,  —  dispute  who  list,  — 

I  count  him  victor.     Where  his  fellow  failed. 
Mastered  by  his  own  means  of  might,  —  acquist 

Of  necessary  sorrows,  —  he  prevailed, 
A  strong  since  joyful  man  who  stood  distinct 
Above  slave-sorrows  to  his  chariot  linked. 

157. 

Was  not  his  lot  to  feel  more  ?     What  meant  "  feel " 
Unless  to  suffer  !     Not,  to  see  more  ?     Sight  — 

What  helped  it  but  to  watch  the  drunken  reel 
Of  vice  and  folly  round  him,  left  and  right. 

One  dance  of  imps  and  idiots !     Not,  to  deal 


THE  TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC.  21/ 

More  with  things  lovely  ?     What  provoked  the  spite 
Of  filth  incarnate,  like  the  poet's  need 
Of  other  nutriment  than  strife  and  greed  ! 

158. 

Who  knows  most,  doubts  most ;  entertaining  hope, 
Means  recognizing  fear  ;  the  keener  sense 

Of  all  comprised  within  our  actual  scope 

Recoils  from  aught  beyond  earth's  dim  and  dense. 

Who,  grown  familiar  with  the  sky,  will  grope 

Henceforward  among  groundlings  ?    That 's  ofifence 

Just  as  indubitably  :  stars  abound 

O'erhead,   but   then  —  what    flowers   make   glad   the 
ground  ! 

159- 

So,  force  is  sorrow,  and  each  sorrow,  force  : 

What  then  ?  since  Swiftness  gives  the  charioteer 

The  palm,  his  hope  be  in  the  vivid  horse 

Whose   neck  God   clothed   with   thunder,   not  the 
steer 

Sluggish  and  safe  !     Yoke  Hatred,  Crime,  Remorse, 
Despair  :  but  ever  mid  the  whirling  fear. 

Let,  through  the  tumult,  break  the  poet's  face 

Radiant,  assured  his  wild  slaves  win  the  race ! 

160. 

Therefore  I  say  .  .  .  no,  shall  not  say,  but  think, 
And  save  my  breath  for  better  purpose.     White 


2l8  THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC. 

From  grey  our  log  has  burned  to  :  just  one  blink 
That  quivers,  loth  to  leave  it,  as  a  sprite 

The  outworn  body.     Ere  your  eyelids'  wink 
Punish  who  sealed  so  deep  into  the  night 

Your  mouth  up,  for  two  poets  dead  so  long,  — 

Here  pleads  a  live  pretender  :  right  your  wrong ! 


THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC.  219 


I. 

What  a  pretty  tale  you  told  me 

Once  upon  a  time 
—  Said  you  found  it  somewhere  (scold  me  !) 

Was  it  prose  or  was  it  rhyme, 
Greek  or  Latin  ?     Greek,  you  said, 
While  your  shoulder  propped  my  head. 

2. 

Anyhow  there  's  no  forgetting 

This  much  if  no  more, 
That  a  poet  (pray,  no  petting  !) 

Yes,  a  bard,  sir,  famed  of  yore. 
Went  where  suchlike  used  to  go, 
Singing  for  a  prize,  you  know. 

3- 

Well,  he  had  to  sing,  nor  merely 

Sing  but  play  the  lyre  ; 
Playing  was  important  clearly 

Quite  as  singing  :  I  desire, 
Sir,  you  keep  the  fact  in  mind 
For  a  purpose  that 's  behind. 


220  THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC. 

4. 

There  stood  he,  while  deep  attention 

Held  the  judges  round, 
—  Judges  able,  I  should  mention, 

To  detect  the  slightest  sound 
Sung  or  played  amiss  :  such  ears 
Had  old  judges,  it  appears  ! 

S- 

None  the  less  he  sang  out  boldly, 

Played  in  time  and  tune. 
Till  the  judges,  weighing  coldly 

Each  note's  worth,  seemed,  late  or  soon, 
Sure  to  smile  :  "  In  vain  one  tries 
Picking  faults  out :  take  the  prize  !  " 


When,  a  mischief  !    Were  they  seven 

Strings  the  lyre  possessed  ? 
Oh,  and  afterwards  eleven. 

Thank  you  !     Well,  sir,  —  who  had  guessed 
Such  ill  luck  in  store  ?  —  it  happed 
One  of  those  same  seven  strings  snapped. 

7- 

All  was  lost,  then  !     No  !  a  cricket 
(What  "  cicada  "  ?     Pooh  !) 


THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC.  221 

—  Some  mad  thing  that  left  its  thicket 

For  mere  love  of  music  —  flew 
With  its  little  heart  on  fire, 
Lighted  on  tlie  crippled  lyre. 

8. 

So  that  when  (Ah  joy  !)  our  singer 

For  his  truant  string 
Feels  with  disconcerted  finger, 

What  does  cricket  else  but  fling 
Fier}'  heart  forth,  sound  the  note 
Wanted  by  the  throbbing  throat  ? 

9- 

Ay  and,  ever  to  the  ending, 

Cricket  chirps  at  need, 
Executes  the  hand's  intending, 

Promptly,  perfectly,  —  indeed 
Saves  the  singer  from  defeat 
With  her  chirrup  low  and  sweet. 

lO. 

Till,  at  ending,  all  the  judges 

Cry  with  one  assent 
*'  Take  the  prize  —  a  prize  who  grudges 

Such  a  voice  and  instrument  ? 
Why,  we  took  your  lyre  for  harp. 
So  it  shrilled  us  forth  F  sharp  !  " 


222  THE    TWO  POETS  OF  CROISIC. 

II. 

Did  the  conqueror  spurn  the  creature, 

Once  its  service  done  ? 
That 's  no  such  uncommon  feature 

In  the  case  when  Music's  son 
Finds  his  Lotte's  power  too  spent 
For  aiding  soul-development. 

12. 

No  !     This  other,  on  returning 

Homeward,  prize  in  hand, 
Satisfied  his  bosom's  yearning  : 

(Sir,  I  hope  you  understand  !) 
—  Said  "  Some  record  there  must  be 
Of  this  cricket's  help  to  me  !  " 

13- 

So,  he  made  himself  a  statue  : 

Marble  stood,  life-size  ; 
On  the  lyre,  he  pointed  at  you, 

Perched  his  partner  in  the  prize  j 
Never  more  apart  you  found 
Her,  he  throned,  from  him,  she  crowned. 

14- 

That 's  the  tale  :  its  application  ? 
Somebody  I  know 


THE    TIVO  POETS  OF  CROISIC.  223 

Hopes  one  day  for  reputation 

Through  his  poetry  that 's  —  Oh, 
All  so  learned  and  so  wise 
And  deserving  of  a  prize  ! 

IS- 

If  he  gains  one,  will  some  ticket, 

When  his  statue  's  built. 
Tell  the  gazer  "  'T  was  a  cricket 

Helped  my  crippled  lyre,  whose  lilt 
Sweet  and  low,  when  strength  usurped 
Softness'  place  i'  the  scale,  she  chirped  ? 

16. 

"  For  as  victory  w^as  nighest, 
While  I  sang  and  played,  — 
With  my  lyre  at  lowest,  highest, 

Right  alike,  —  one  string  that  made 
'  Love  '  sound  soft  was  snapped  in  twain. 
Never  to  be  heard  again,  — 

17. 

"  Had  not  a  kind  cricket  fluttered, 
Perched  upon  the  place 
Vacant  left,  and  duly  uttered 

*  Love,  Love,  Love,'  whene'er  the  bass 
Asked  the  treble  to  atone 
For  its  somewhat  sombre  drone." 


224  ^^^   ^^^  POETS  OF  CROISIC. 

i8. 

But  you  don't  know  music  !     Wherefore 

Keep  on  casting  pearls 
To  a  —  poet  ?     All  I  care  for 
Is  —  to  tell  him  that  a  girl's 
"  Love  "  comes  aptly  in  when  gruff 

Grows  his  singing,     (There,  enough  !) 
January  15,  1878. 


PAULINE: 

A   FRAGMENT  OF  A  CONFESSION. 
IS 


Non  dubito,  quin  titulus  libri  nostri  raritate  sua  quamplurimos  alliciat  ad 
legendum :  inter  quos  nonnulli  obliquas  opinionis,  mente  languid!,  multi  etiam 
maligni,  et  in  ingenium  nostrum  ingrati  accedent,  qui  temeraria  sui  ignorantia, 
vix  conspecto  titulo  clamabunt :  Nos  vetita  docere,  hseresium  semina  jacere  : 
piis  auribus  offendiculo,  prasclaris  ingeniis  scandalo  esse :  .  .  .  ade6  conscientiae 
sxix  consulentes,  ut  nee  Apollo,  nee  Musae  omnes,  neque  Angelus  de  cceIo  me 
ab  illorum  execratione  vindicare  queant :  quibus  et  ego  nunc  consulo,  ne  scripta 
nostra  legant,  nee  intelligant,  nee  meminerint :  nam  noxia  sunt,  venenosa  sunt : 
Acherontis  ostium  est  in  hoc  libro,  lapides  loquitur,  caveant,  ne  cerebrum  illis 
excutiat.  Vos  autem,  qui  jequa  mente  ad  legendum  venitis,  si  tantam  pruden- 
tije  discretionem  adhibueritis,  quantam  in  melle  legendo  apes,  jam  securi  legite. 
Puto  namque  vos  et  utilitatis  baud  parum  et  voluptatis  plurimum  accepturos. 
Quod  si  qua  repereritis,  quae  vobis  non  placeant,  mittite  ilia,  nee  utimini.  Nam 
ET  EGO  VOBIS  iLLA  NON  Probo,  sed  Narro.  Caetera  tamen  propterea  non 
respuite.  .  .  .  Ideo,  si  quid  liberius  dictum  sit,  ignoscite  adolescentias  nostra;, 
qui  minor  quam  adolescens  hoc  opus  composui.  —  Hen.  Corn.  Agrippa,  7?^ 
Occult-  Philosoph.  in  Pre/at. 

London,  January,  1833. 


^N-  ->^ 


PAULINE. 


Paulixe,  mine  own,  bend  o'er  me  —  thy  soft  breast 

Shall  pant  to  mine  —  bend  o'er  me  —  thy  sweet  eyes 

And  loosened  hair  and  breathing  lips,  and  arms 

Drawing  me  to  thee  —  these  build  up  a  screen 

To  shut  me  in  with  thee,  and  from  all  fear  ; 

So  that  I  might  unlock  the  sleepless  brood 

Of  fancies  from  my  soul,  their  lurking  place, 

Xor  doubt  that  each  would  pass,  ne'er  to  return 

To  one  so  watched,  so  loved  and  so  secured. 

But  what  can  guard  thee  but  thy  naked  love  ? 

Ah  dearest,  whoso  sucks  a  poisoned  wound 

Envenoms  his  own  veins  !     Thou  art  so  good. 

So  calm  —  if  thou  shouldst  wear  a  brow  less  light 

For  some  wild  thought  which,  but  for  me,  were  kept 

From  out  thy  soul  as  from  a  sacred  star ! 

Yet  till  I  have  unlocked  them  it  were  vain 

To  hope  to  sing  ;  some  woe  would  light  on  me  ; 

Nature  would  point  at  one  whose  quivering  lip 


228  PAULINE. 

Was  bathed  in  her  enchantments,  whose  brow  burned 
Beneath  the  crown,  to  which  her  secrets  knelt, 
Who  learned  the  spell  which  can  call  up  the  dead, 
And  then  departed  smiling  like  a  fiend 
Who  has  deceived  God,  —  if  such  one  should  seek 
Again  her  altars,  and  stand  robed  and  crowned 
Amid  the  faithful :  sad  confession  first. 
Remorse  and  pardon  and  old  claims  renewed, 
Ere  I  can  be  —  as  I  shall  be  no  more. 

I  had  been  spared  this  shame  if  I  had  sat 

By  thee  forever  from  the  first,  in  place 

Of  my  wild  dreams  of  beauty  and  of  good. 

Or  with  them,  as  an  earnest  of  their  truth  : 

No  thought  nor  hope  having  been  shut  from  thee, 

No  vague  wish  unexplained,  no  wandering  aim 

Sent  back  to  bind  on  fancy's  wings  and  seek 

Some  strange  fair  world  where  it  might  be  a  law  j 

But  doubting  nothing,  had  been  led  by  thee. 

Thro'  youth,  and  saved,  as  one  at  length  awaked 

Who  has  slept  through  a  peril.     Ah  vain,  vain  ! 

Thou  lovest  me  ;  the  past  is  in  its  grave 
Tho'  its  ghost  haunts  us ;  still  this  much  is  ours. 
To  cast  away  restraint,  lest  a  worse  thing 
Wait  for  us  in  the  darkness.     Thou  lovest  me  j 
And  thou  art  to  receive  not  love,  but  faith, 


PAULINE.  229 

For  which  thou  wilt  be  mine,  and  smile  and  take 
All  shapes  and  shames,  and  veil  without  a  fear 
That  form  which  music  follows  like  a  slave  : 
And  I  look  to  thee  and  I  trust  in  thee, 
As  in  a  Northern  night  one  looks  alway 
Unto  the  East  for  morn  and  spring  and  joy. 
Thou  seest  then  my  aimless,  hopeless  state, 
And,  resting  on  some  few  old  feelings  won 
Back  by  thy  beauty,  wouldst  that  I  essay 
The  task  which  was  to  me  what  now  thou  art : 
And  why  should  I  conceal  one  weakness  more  ? 

Thou  wilt  remember  one  warm  morn  when  winter 
Crept  aged  from  the  earth,  and  spring's  first  breath 
Blew   soft  from   the   moist    hills  ;    the    black  -  thorn 

boughs, 
So  dark  in  the  bare  wood,  when  glistening 
In  the  sunshine  were  white  with  coming  buds, 
Like  the  bright  side  of  a  sorrow,  and  the  banks 
Had  violets  opening  from  sleep  like  eyes, 
I  walked  with  thee,  who  knew  not  a  deep  shame 
Lurked   beneath   smiles    and   careless   words   which 

sought 
To  hide  it  till  they  wandered  and  were  mute, 
As  we  stood  listening  on  a  sunny  mound 
To  the  wind  murmuring  in  the  damp  copse, 
Like  heavy  breathings  of  some  hidden  thing 


230  FAULnVE. 

Betrayed  by  sleep ;  until  the  feeling  rushed 

That  I  was  low  indeed,  yet  not  so  low 

As  to  endure  the  calmness  of  thine  eyes  ; 

And  so  I  told  thee  all,  while  the  cool  breast 

I  leaned  on  altered  not  its  quiet  beating. 

And  long  ere  words  like  a  hurt  bird's  complaint 

Bade  me  look  up  and  be  what  I  had  been, 

I  felt  despair  could  never  live  by  thee  : 

Thou  wilt  remember.     Thou  art  not  more  dear 

Than  song  was  once  to  me  ;  and  I  ne'er  sung 

But  as  one  entering  bright  halls  where  all 

Will  rise  and  shout  for  him  :  sure  I  must  own 

That  I  am  fallen,  having  chosen  gifts 

Distinct  from  theirs  —  that  I  am  sad  and  fain 

Would  give  up  all  to  be  but  where  I  was, 

Not  high  as  I  had  been  if  faithful  found, 

But  low  and  weak  yet  full  of  hope,  and  sure 

Of  goodness  as  of  life  —  that  I  would  lose 

All  this  gay  master}-  of  mind,  to  sit 

Once  more  with  them,  trusting  in  truth  and  love, 

And  with  an  aim  —  not  being  what  I  am. 

Oh  Pauline,  I  am  ruined  who  believed 

That  though  my  soul  had  floated  from  its  sphere 

Of  wild  dominion  into  the  dim  orb 

Of  self  —  that  it  w^as  strong  and  free  as  ever  ! 

It  has  conformed  itself  to  that  dim  orb. 

Reflecting  all  its  shades  and  shapes,  and  now 


PAULINE.  231 

Must  stay  where  it  alone  can  be  adored. 

I  have  felt  this  in  dreams  —  in  dreams  in  which 

I  seemed  the  fate  from  which  I  fled  ;  I  felt 

A  strange  delight  in  causing  my  decay ; 

I  was  a  fiend  in  darkness  chained  forever 

Within  some  ocean-cave  ;  and  ages  rolled, 

Till  through  the  cleft  rock,  like  a  moonbeam,  came 

A  white  swan  to  remain  with  me  ;  and  ages 

Rolled,  yet  I  tired  not  of  my  first  joy 

In  gazing  on  the  peace  of  its  pure  wings  : 

And  then  I  said  "It  is  most  fair  to  me, 

Yet  its  soft  wings  must  sure  have  suffered  change 

From  the  thick  darkness,  sure  its  ej-es  are  dim, 

Its  silver  pinions  must  be  cramped  and  numbed 

With  sleeping  ages  here  ;  it  cannot  leave  me, 

For  it  would  seem,  in  light  beside  its  kind, 

Withered,  tho'  here  to  me  most  beautiful." 

And  then  I  was  a  young  witch  whose  blue  eyes, 

As  she  stood  naked  by  the  river  springs, 

Drew  down  a  god  ;  I  watched  his  radiant  form 

Growing  less  radiant  and  it  gladdened  me  ; 

Till  one  morn,  as  he  sat  in  the  sunshine 

Upon  my  knees,  singing  to  me  of  heaven. 

He  turned  to  look  at  me,  ere  I  could  lose 

The  grin  with  which  I  viewed  his  perishing : 

And  he  shrieked  and  departed  and  sat  long 

By  his  deserted  throne,  but  sank  at  last 


332  PAULINE. 

Murmuring,  as  I  kissed  his  lips  and  curled 
Around  him,  "  I  am  still  a  god  —  to  thee." 
Still  I  can  lay  my  soul  bare  in  its  fall, 
For  all  the  wandering  and  all  the  weakness 
Will  be  a  saddest  comment  on  the  song  : 
And  if,  that  done,  I  can  be  young  again, 
I  will  give  up  all  gained,  as  willingly 
As  one  gives  up  a  charm  which  shuts  him  out 
From  hope  or  part  or  care  in  human  kind. 
As  life  wanes,  all  its  cares  and  strife  and  toil 
Seem  strangely  valueless,  while  the  old  trees 
Which  grew  by  our  youth's  home,  the  waving  mass 
Of  climbing  plants  heavy  with  bloom  and  dew, 
The  morning  swallows  with  their  songs  like  words, 
All  these  seem  clear  and  only  worth  our  thoughts  : 
So,  aught  connected  with  my  early  life. 
My  rude  songs  or  my  wild  imaginings. 
How  I  look  on  them  —  most  distinct  amid 
The  fever  and  the  stir  of  after  years  ! 

I  ne'er  had  ventured  e'en  to  hope  for  this  ; 
Had  not  the  glow  I  felt  at  His  award. 
Assured  me  all  was  not  extinct  within  ; 
His  whom  all  honor,  whose  renown  springs  up 
Like  sunlight  which  will  visit  all  the  world. 
So  that  e'en  they  who  sneered  at  him  at  first. 
Come  out  to  it,  as  some  dark  spider  crawls 


PAULINE.  233 

From  his  foul  nets  which  some  Ut  torch  invades, 
Yet  spinning  still  new  films  for  his  retreat. 
Thou  didst  smile,  poet,  but  can  we  forgive  ? 
Sun-treader,  life  and  light  be  thine  forever ! 
Thou  art  gone  from  us  ;  years  go  by  and  spring 
Gladdens  and  the  young  earth  is  beautiful 
Yet  thy  songs  come  not,  other  bards  arise, 
But  none  like  thee  :  they  stand,  thy  majesties, 
Like  mighty  works  which  tell  some  spirit  there 
Hath  sat  regardless  of  neglect  and  scorn. 
Till,  its  long  task  completed,  it  hath  risen 
And  left  us,  never  to  return,  and  all 
Rush  in  to  peer  and  praise  when  all  in  vain. 
The  air  seems  bright  with  thy  past  presence  yet, 
But  thou  art  still  for  me  as  thou  hast  been 
When  I  have  stood  with  thee  as  on  a  throne 
With  all  thy  dim  creations  gathered  round 
Like  mountains,  and  I  felt  of  mould  like  them, 
And  creatures  of  my  own  were  mixed  with  them. 
Like  things  half-lived,  catching  and  giving  life. 
But  thou  art  still  for  me,  who  have  adored, 
Tho'  single,  panting  but  to  hear  thy  name 
Which  I  believed  a  spell  to  me  alone. 
Scarce  deeming  thou  wast  as  a  star  to  men  ! 
As  one  should  worship  long  a  sacred  spring 
Scarce  worth   a  moth's   flitting,  which   long  grasses 
cross, 


234  PAULINE. 

And  one  small  tree  embowers  droopingly, 
Joying  to  see  some  wandering  insect  won 
To  live  in  its  few  rushes,  or  some  locust 
To  pasture  on  its  boughs,  or  some  wild  bird 
Stoop  for  its  freshness  from  the  trackless  air  : 
And  then  should  find  it  but  the  fountain-head, 
Long  lost,  of  some  great  river  washing  towns 
And  towers,  and  seeing  old  woods  which  will  live 
But  by  its  banks  untrod  of  human  foot. 
Which,  when  the  great  sun  sinks,  lie  quivering 
In  light  as  something  lieth  half  of  life 
Before  God's  foot,  waiting  a  wondrous  change  ; 
Then  girt  with  rocks  which  seek  to  turn  or  stay 
Its  course  in  vain,  for  it  does  ever  spread 
Like  a  sea's  arm  as  it  goes  rolling  on, 
Being  the  pulse  of  some  great  countr}' — so 
Wast  thou  to  me,  and  art  thou  to  the  world  ! 
And  I,  perchance,  half  feel  a  strange  regret, 
That  I  am  not  what  I  have  been  to  thee  : 
Like  a  girl  one  has  loved  long  silently 
In  her  first  loveliness  in  some  retreat, 
When,  first  emerged,  all  gaze  and  glow  to  view 
Her  fresh  eyes  and  soft  hair  and  lips  which  bleed 
Like  a  mountain  berr\- :  doubtless  it  is  sweet 
To  see  her  thus  adored,  but  there  have  been 
IMoments  when  all  the  world  was  in  his  praise, 
Sweeter  than  all  the  pride  of  after  hours. 


PAULINE.  235 

Yet,  sun-treader,  all  hail !     From  my  heart's  heart 

I  bid  thee  hail  !     E'en  in  my  wildest  dreams, 

I  am  proud  to  feel  I  would  have  thrown  up  all 

The  wreaths  of  fame  which  seemed  o'erhanging  me, 

To  have  seen  thee  for  a  moment  as  thou  art. 

And  if  thou  livest,  if  thou  lovest,  spirit ! 

Remember  me  who  set  this  final  seal 

To  wandering  thought  —  that  one  so  pure  as  thou 

Could  never  die.     Remember  me  who  flung 

All  honor  from  my  soul  yet  paused  and  said, 

"There  is  one  spark  of  love  remaining  yet, 

For  I  have  nought  in  common  with  him,  shapes 

Which  followed  him  avoid  me,  and  foul  forms 

Seek  me,  which  ne'er  could  fasten  on  his  mind  ; 

And  though  I  feel  how  low  I  am  to  him, 

Yet  I  aim  not  even  to  catch  a  tone 

Of  all  the  harmonies  which  he  called  up  ; 

So,  one  gleam  still  remains,  although  the  last." 

Remember  me  who  praise  thee  e'en  with  tears, 

For  never  more  shall  I  walk  calm  with  thee  ; 

Thy  sweet  imaginings  are  as  an  air, 

A  melody  some  wondrous  singer  sings. 

Which,  though  it  haunt  men  oft  in  the  still  eve. 

They  dream  not  to  essay  ;  yet  it  no  less 

But  more  is  honored.     I  was  thine  in  shame, 

And  now  when  all  thy  proud  renown  is  out, 

I  am  a  watcher  whose  eyes  have  grown  dim 


236  PAULINE. 

With  looking  for  some  star  which  breaks  on  him 
Altered  and  worn  and  weak  and  full  of  tears. 

Autumn  has  come  like  spring  returned  to  us, 

Won  from  her  girlishness  ;  like  one  returned 

A  friend  that  was  a  lover  nor  forgets 

The  first  warm  love,  but  full  of  sober  thoughts 

Of  fading  years  ;  whose  soft  mouth  quivers  yet 

With  the  old  smile  but  yet  so  changed  and  still ! 

And  here  am  I  the  scoffer,  who  have  probed 

Life's  vanity,  won  by  a  word  again 

Into  my  old  life  —  for  one  little  word 

Of  this  sweet  friend  who  lives  in  loving  me, 

Lives  strangely  on  my  thoughts  and  looks  and  words, 

As  fathoms  down  some  nameless  ocean  thing 

Its  silent  course  of  quietness  and  joy. 

0  dearest,  if  indeed  I  tell  the  past, 
ISIay'st  thou  forget  it  as  a  sad  sick  dream  ! 
Or  if  it  linger  —  my  lost  soul  too  soon 
Sinks  to  itself  and  whispers,  we  shall  be 

But  closer  linked,  two  creatures  whom  the  earth 
Bears  singly,  with  strange  feelings  unrevealed 
But  to  each  other ;  or  two  lonely  things 
Created  by  some  power  whose  reign  is  done, 
Having  no  part  in  God  or  his  bright  world. 

1  am  to  sing  whilst  ebbing  day  dies  soft, 
As  a  lean  scholar  dies  worn  o'er  his  book, 


PAULIXE.  237 

And  in  the  heaven  stars  steal  out  one  by  one 
As  hunted  men  steal  to  their  mountain  watch. 
I  must  not  think,  lest  this  new  impulse  die 
In  which  I  trust ;  I  have  no  confidence  : 
So,  I  will  sing  on  fast  as  fancies  come  ; 
Rudely,  the  verse  being  as  the  mood  it  paints. 

I  strip  my  mind  bare,  whose  first  elements 
I  shall  unveil  —  not  as  they  struggled  forth 
In  infancy,  nor  as  they  now  exist, 
That  I  am  grown  above  them  and  can  rule  — 
But  in  that  middle  stage  when  they  were  full 
Yet  ere  I  had  disposed  them  to  my  will  ; 
And  then  I  shall  show  how  these  elements 
Produced  my  present  state,  and  what  it  is. 

I  am  made  up  of  an  intensest  life, 

Of  a  most  clear  idea  of  consciousness 

Of  self,  distinct  from  all  its  qualities. 

From  all  affections,  passions,  feelings,  powers ; 

And  thus  far  it  exists,  if  tracked  in  all : 

But  linked,  in  me,  to  self-supremacy, 

Existing  as  a  centre  to  all  things. 

Most  patent  to  create  and  rule  and  call 

Upon  all  things  to  minister  to  it ; 

And  to  a  principle  of  restlessness 

Which  would  be  all,  have,  see,  know,  taste,  feel,  all  — 


238  PAULINE. 

This  is  myself ;  and  I  should  thus  have  been 
Though  gifted  lower  than  the  meanest  soul. 

And  of  my  powers,  one  springs  up  to  save 
From  utter  death  a  soul  with  such  desire 
Confined  to  clay  —  which  is  the  only  one 
Which  marks  me  —  an  imagination  which 
Has  been  an  angel  to  me,  coming  not 
In  fitful  visions  but  beside  me  ever 
And  never  failing  me  ;  so,  though  my  mind 
Forgets  not,  not  a  shred  of  life  forgets. 
Yet  I  can  take  a  secret  pride  in  calling 
The  dark  past  up  to  quell  it  regally. 

A  mind  like  this  must  dissipate  itself, 
But  I  have  always  had  one  lode-star ;  now, 
As  I  look  back,  I  see  that  I  have  wasted 
Or  progressed  as  I  look  towards  that  star  — 
A  need,  a  trust,  a  yearning  after  God  : 
A  feeling  I  have  analyzed  but  late, 
But  it  existed,  and  was  reconciled 
With  a  neglect  of  all  I  deemed  his  laws, 
Which  yet,  when  seen  in  others,  I  abhorred. 
I  felt  as  one  beloved,  and  so  shut  in 
From  fear :  and  thence  I  date  my  trust  in  signs 
And  omens,  for  I  saw  God  everywhere ; 
And  I  can  only  lay  it  to  the  fruit 


PAULINE.  239 

Of  a  sad  after-time  that  I  could  doubt 
Even  his  being  —  having  always  felt 
His  presence,  never  acting  from  myself, 
Still  trusting  in  a  hand  that  leads  me  through 
All  danger ;  and  this  feeling  still  has  fought 
Against  my  weakest  reason  and  resolve. 

And  I  can  love  nothing  —  and  this  dull  truth 
Has  come  the  last :  but  sense  supplies  a  love 
Encircling  me  and  mingling  with  my  life. 

These  make  myself :  for  I  have  sought  in  vain 
To  trace  how  they  were  formed  by  circumstance, 
For  I  still  find  them  turning  my  wild  youth 
Where  they  alone  displayed  themselves,  converting 
All  objects  to  their  use  :  now  see  their  course. 

They  came  to  me  in  my  first  dawn  of  life 

Which  passed  alone  with  wisest  ancient  books 

All  halo-girt  with  fancies  of  my  own  ; 

And  I  mj^self  went  with  the  tale  —  a  god 

Wandering  after  beauty,  or  a  giant 

Standing  vast  in  the  sunset  —  an  old  hunter 

Talking  with  gods,  or  a  high-crested  chief, 

Sailing  with  troops  of  friends  to  Tenedos. 

I  tell  you,  nought  has  ever  been  so  clear 

As  the  place,  the  time,  the  fashion  of  those  lives : 


240  PAULINE. 

I  had  not  seen  a  work  of  lofty  art, 

Nor  woman's  beauty  nor  sweet  nature's  face, 

Yet,  I  say,  never  morn  broke  clear  as  those 

On  the  dim  clustered  isles  in  the  blue  sea, 

The  deep  groves  and  white  temples  and  wet  caves  : 

And  nothing  ever  will  surprise  me  now — ■ 

Who  stood  beside  the  naked  Swift-footed, 

Who  bound  my  forehead  with  Proserpine's  hair. 

And  strange  it  is  that  I  who  could  so  dream 

Should  e'er  have  stooped  to  aim  at  aught  beneath  — 

Aught  low,  or  painful  ;  but  I  never  doubted. 

So,  as  I  grew,  I  rudely  shaped  my  life 

To  my  immediate  wants  ;  yet  strong  beneath 

Was  a  vague  sense  of  powers  folded  up  — 

A  sense  that  though  those  shadowy  times  were  past 

Their  spirit  dwelt  in  me,  and  I  should  rule. 

Then  came  a  pause,  and  long  restraint  chained  down 

My  soul,  till  it  was  changed.     I  lost  myself. 

And  were  it  not  that  I  so  loathe  that  time, 

I  could  recall  how  first  I  learned  to  turn 

My  mind  against  itself ;  and  the  effects 

In  deeds  for  which  remorse  were  vain  as  for 

The  wanderings  of  delirious  dream  ;  yet  thence 

Came  cunning,  envy,  falsehood,  which  so  long 

Have  spotted  me  :  at  length  I  was  restored. 


PAULINE.  241 

Yet  long  the  influence  remained  ;  and  nought 
But  tlie  still  life  I  led,  apart  from  all, 
Which  left  my  soul  to  seek  its  old  delights, 
Could  e'er  have  brought  me  thus  far  back  to  peace. 
As  peace  returned,  I  sought  out  some  pursuit ; 
And  song  rose,  no  new  impulse,  but  the  one 
With  which  all  others  best  could  be  combined. 
My  life  has  not  been  that  of  those  whose  heaven 
Was  lampless  save  where  poesy  shone  out ; 
But  as  a  clime  where  glittering  mountain-tops 
And  glancing  sea  and  forests  steeped  in  light 
Give  back  reflected  the  far-flashing  sun  ; 
For  music  (which  is  earnest  of  a  heaven. 
Seeing  we  know  emotions  strange  by  it, 
Not  else  to  be  revealed)  is  as  a  voice, 
A  low  voice  calling  fancy,  as  a  friend, 
To  the  green  woods  in  the  gay  summer  time  : 
And  she  fills  all  the  way  with  dancing  shapes 
Which  have  made  painters  pale,  and  they  go  on 
While  stars  look  at  them  and  winds  call  to  them 
As  they  leave  life's  path  for  the  twilight  world 
Where  the  dead  gather.     This  was  not  at  first, 
For  I  scarce  knew  what  I  would  do.     I  had 
No  wish  to  paint,  no  yearning  ;  but  I  sang. 

And  first  I  sang  as  I  in  dream  have  seen 
Music  wait  on  a  lyrist  for  some  thought, 
16 


242  PAULINE. 

Yet  singing  to  herself  until  it  came. 

I  turned  to  those  old  times  and  scenes  where  all 

That 's  beautiful  had  birth  for  me,  and  made 

Rude  verses  on  them  all ;  and  then  I  paused  — 

I  had  done  nothing,  so  I  sought  to  know 

What  mind  had  yet  achieved.     No  fear  was  mine 

As  I  gazed  on  the  works  of  mighty  bards, 

In  the  first  joy  of  finding  my  own  thoughts 

Recorded  and  my  powers  exemplified, 

And  feeling  their  aspirings  were  my  own. 

And  then  I  first  explored  passion  and  mind  ; 

And  I  began  afresh ;  I  rather  sought 

To  rival  what  I  wondered  at,  than  form 

Creations  of  my  own  ;  so,  much  was  light 

Lent  back  by  others,  yet  much  was  my  own. 

I  paused  again,  a  change  was  coming  on, 

I  was  no  more  a  boy,  the  past  was  breaking 

Before  the  coming  and  like  fever  worked. 

I  first  thought  on  myself,  and  here  my  powers 

Burst  out :  I  dreamed  not  of  restraint  but  gazed 

On  all  things  :  schemes  and  systems  went  and  cam.e. 

And  I  was  proud  (being  vainest  of  the  w-eak) 

In  wandering  o'er  them  to  seek  out  some  one 

To  be  my  own,  as  one  should  wander  o're 

The  white  way  for  a  star. 


PAULINE.  243 

And  my  choice  fell 
Not  so  much  on  a  system  as  a  man  — 
On  one,  whom  praise  of  mine  would  not  offend, 
Who  was  as  calm  as  beauty,  being  such 
Unto  mankind  as  thou  to  me,  Pauline,  — 
Believing  in  them  and  devoting  all 
His  soul's  strength  to  their  winning  back  to  peace  ; 
Who  sent  forth  hopes  and  longings  for  their  sake. 
Clothed  in  all  passion's  melodies,  which  first 
Caught  me  and  set  me,  as  to  a  sweet  task. 
To  gather  every  breathing  of  his  songs  : 
And  woven  with  them  there  were  words  which  seemed 
A  key  to  a  new  world,  the  muttering 
Of  angels  of  some  thing  unguessed  by  man. 
How  my  heart  beat  as  I  went  on,  and  found 
Much  there,  I  felt  my  own  mind  had  conceived, 
But  there  living  and  burning  !     Soon  the  whole 
Of  his  conceptions  dawned  on  me  ;  their  praise 
Is  in  the  tongues  of  men,  men's  brows  are  high 
When  his  name  means  a  triumph  and  a  pride. 
So,  my  weak  hands  may  well  forbear  to  dim 
What  then  seemed  my  bright  fate  :  I  threw  myself 
To  meet  it,  I  was  vowed  to  liberty, 
Men  were  to  be  as  gods  and  earth  as  heaven. 
And  I  —  ah,  what  a  life  was  mine  to  be  ! 
My  whole  soul  rose  to  meet  it.     Now,  Pauline, 
I  shall  go  mad,  if  I  recall  that  time  ! 


244  PAULINE. 

Oh  let  me  look  back  ere  I  leave  forever 
The  time  which  was  an  hour  that  one  waits 
For  a  fair  girl  that  comes  a  withered  hag  ! 
And  I  was  lonely,  far  from  woods  and  fields, 
And  amid  dullest  sights,  who  should  be  loose 
As  a  stag  ;  yet  I  was  full  of  joy,  who  lived 
With  Plato  and  who  had  the  key  to  life  ; 
And  I  had  dimly  shaped  my  first  attempt, 
And  many  a  thought  did  I  build  up  on  thought, 
As  the  wild  bee  hangs  cell  to  cell  ;  in  vain, 
For  I  must  still  go  on,  my  mind  rests  not. 

'T  was  in  my  plan  to  look  on  real  life 

Which  was  all  new  to  me  ;  my  theories 

Were  firm,  so  I  left  them,  to  look  upon 

Men  and  their  cares  and  hopes  and  fears  and  joys ; 

And  as  I  pondered  on  them  all  I  sought 

How  best  life's  end  might  be  attained —  an  end 

Comprising  every  joy,     I  deeply  mused. 

And  suddenly  without  heart-wreck  I  awoke 

As  from  a  dream  :  I  said  "  'T  was  beautiful 

Yet  but  a  dream,  and  so  adieu  to  it !  " 

As  some  world-wanderer  sees  in  a  far  meadow 

Strange  towers  and  walled  gardens  thick  with  trees, 

Where  singing  goes  on  and  delicious  mirth, 

And  laughing  fairy  creatures  peeping  over, 


PAULINE.  245 

And  on  the  morrow  when  he  comes  to  live 

Forever  by  those  springs  and  trees  fruit-flushed 

And  fairy  bowers,  all  his  search  is  vain. 

First  went  my  hopes  of  perfecting  mankind, 

And  faith  in  them,  then  freedom  in  itself 

And  virtue  in  itself,  and  then  my  motives,  ends 

And  powers  and  loves,  and  human  love  went  last. 

I  felt  this  no  decay,  because  new  powers 

Rose  as  old  feelings  left  —  wit,  mockery 

And  happiness  ;  for  I  had  oft  been  sad, 

Mistrusting  my  resolves,  but  now  I  cast 

Hope  joyously  away  :  I  laughed  and  said 

"  No  more  of  this  !  "     I  must  not  think  :  at  length 

I  looked  again  to  see  how  all  went  on. 

My  powers  were  greater  :  as  some  temple  seemed 

My  soul,  where  nought  is  changed  and  incense  rolls 

Around  the  altar,  only  God  is  gone 

And  some  dark  spirit  sitteth  in  his  seat. 

So,  I  passed  through  the  temple  and  to  me 

Knelt  troops  of  shadows,  and  they  cried  "  Hail  king ! 

We  serve  thee  now  and  thou  shalt  serve  no  more  ! 

Call  on  us,  prove  us,  let  us  worship  thee  !  " 

And  I  said  "  Are  ye  strong  ?     Let  fancy  bear  me 

Far  from  the  past !  "     And  I  was  borne  away. 

As  Arab  birds  float  sleeping  in  the  w'ind. 

O'er  deserts,  towers  and  forests,  I  being  calm  \ 


246  PAULINE. 

And  I  said  "  I  have  nursed  up  energies, 
They  will  prey  on  me  "     And  a  band  knelt  low 
And  cried  "  Lord,  we  are  here  and  we  will  make 
A  way  for  thee  in  thine  appointed  life  ! 

0  look  on  us  !  "     And  I  said  "  Ye  will  worship 

IMe  ;  but  my  heart  must  worship  too."     They  shouted 
"  Thyself,  thou  art  our  king  !  "     So,  I  stood  there 
Smiling  .  .  . 

And  buoyant  and  rejoicing  was  the  spirit 
With  which  I  looked  out  how  to  end  my  days  : 

1  felt  once  more  myself,  my  powers  were  mine  j 
1  found  that  youth  or  health  so  lifted  me 
That,  spite  of  all  life's  vanity,  no  grief 

Came  nigh  me,  I  must  ever  be  light-hearted  ; 

And  that  this  feeling  was  the  only  veil 

Betwixt  me  and  despair :  so,  if  age  came, 

I  should  be  as  a  wreck  linked  to  a  soul 

Yet  fluttering,  or  mind-broken,  and  aware 

Of  my  decay.     So  a  long  summer  morn 

Found  me  ;  and  ere  noon  came,  I  had  resolved 

No  age  should  come  on  me  ere  youth's  hope  went, 

For  I  would  wear  myself  out,  like  that  morn 

Which  wasted  not  a  sunbeam  ;  every  joy 

I  would  make  mine,  and  die.     And  thus  I  sought 

To  chain  my  spirit  down  which  I  had  fed 

With  thoughts  of  fame  :  I  said  "  The  troubled  life 


PAULINE.  247 

Of  genius,  seen  so  bright  when  working  forth 
Some  trusted  end,  seems  sad,  when  all  in  vain  — 
Most  sad  when  men  have  parted  with  all  joy 
For  their  wild  fancy's  sake,  which  waited  first 
As  an  obedient  spirit  when  delight 
Came  not  with  her  alone  ;  but  alters  soon, 
Comes  darkened,  seldom,  hastening  to  depart. 
Leaving  a  heavy  darkness  and  warm  tears. 
But  I  shall  never  lose  her  ;  she  will  live 
Brighter  for  such  seclusion.     I  but  catch 
A  hue,  a  glance  of  what  I  sing,  so,  pain 
Is  linked  with  pleasure,  for  I  ne'er  may  tell 
The  radiant  sights  which  dazzle  me  ;  but  now 
They  shall  be  all  my  own  ;  and  let  them  fade 
Untold  —  others  shall  rise  as  fair,  as  fast ! 
And  when    all  's  done,    the   few   dim   gleams   trans- 
ferred," — 
(For  a  new  thought  sprang  up  that  it  were  well 
To  leave  all  shadowy  hope,  and  weave  such  lays 
As  would  encircle  me  with  praise  and  love, 
So,  I  should  not  die  utterly,  I  should  bring 
One  branch  from  the  gold  forest,  like  the  knight 
Of  old  tales,  witnessing  1  had  been  there)  — 
'"And  when   all's   done,   how  vain   seems  e'en   suc- 
cess 
And  all  the  influence  poets  have  o'er  men  ! 
'T  is  a  fine  thing  that  one  weak  as  myself 


248  PAULIATE. 

Should  sit  in  his  lone  room,  knowing  the  words 

He  utters  in  his  solitude  shall  move 

Men  like  a  swift  wind  —  that  tho'  he  be  forgotten, 

Fair  eyes  shall  glisten  when  his  beauteous  dreams 

Of  love  come  true  in  happier  frames  than  his. 

Ay,  the  still  night  brought  thoughts   like  these,  but 

morn 
Came  and  the  mockery  again  laughed  out 
At  hollow  praises,  and  smiles  almost  sneers ; 
And  my  soul's  idol  seemed  to  whisper  me 
To  dwell  with  him  and  his  unhonored  name  : 
And  I  well  knew  my  spirit,  that  would  be 
First  in  the  struggle,  and  again  would  make 
All  bow  to  it,  and  I  should  sink  again. 

"And  then  know  that  this  curse  will  come  on  us, 

To  see  our  idols  perish  ;  we  may  wither. 

Nor  marvel,  we  are  clay,  but  our  low  fate 

Should  not  extend  to  them,  whom  trustingly 

We  sent  before  into  time's  yawning  gulf 

To  face  whate'er  might  lurk  in  darkness  there. 

To  see  the  painters'  gloiy  pass,  and  feel 

Sweet  music  move  us  not  as  once,  or,  worst, 

To  see  decaying  wits  ere  the  frail  body 

Decays  !     Nought  makes  me  trust  in  love  so  really, 

As  the  delight  of  the  contented  lowness 

With  which  I  gaze  on  souls  I  'd  keep  forever 


PAULINE.  249 

In  beaut}' ;  I  'd  be  sad  to  equal  them  ; 

I  'd  feed  their  fame  e'en  from  my  heart's  best  blood, 

Withering  unseen  that  they  might  flourish  still." 

Pauline,  my  sweet  friend,  thou  dost  not  forget 

How  this  mood  swayed  me  when  thou  first  wast  mine, 

When  I  had  set  myself  to  live  this  life, 

Defying  all  opinion.     Ere  thou  camest 

I  was  most  happy,  sweet,  for  old  delights 

Had  come  like  birds  again  ;  music,  my  life, 

I  nourished  more  than  ever,  and  old  lore 

Loved  for  itself  and  all  it  shows  —  the  king 

Treading  the  purple  calmly  to  his  death. 

While  round  him,  like  the  clouds  of  eve,  all  dusk. 

The  giant  shades  of  fate,  silently  flitting. 

Pile  the  dim  outline  of  the  coming  doom  ; 

And  him  sitting  alone  in  blood  while  friends 

Are  hunting  far  in  the  sunshine  ;  and  the  boy 

With  his  white  breast  and  brow  and  clustering  curls 

Streaked  with  his  mother's  blood,  and  striving  hard 

To  tell  his  stor}'  ere  his  reason  goes. 

And  when  I  loved  thee  as  I  've  loved  so  oft. 

Thou  lovedst  me,  and  I  wondered  and  looked  in 

My  heart  to  find  some  feeling  like  such  love, 

Believing  I  was  still  what  I  had  been  ; 

And  soon  I  found  all  faith  had  gone  from  me, 

And  the  late  glow  of  life,  changing  like  clouds, 


250  PAULINE. 

'T  was  not  the  morn-blush  widening  into  day, 

But  evening  colored  by  the  dying  sun 

While  darkness  is  quick  hastening.     I  will  tell 

My  state  as  though  't  were  none  of  mine  —  despair 

Cannot  come  near  me  —  thus  it  is  with  me. 

Souls  alter  not,  and  mine  must  progress  still : 

And  this  I  knew  not  when  I  flung  away 

My  youth's  chief  aims.     I  ne'er  supposed  the  loss 

Of  what  few  I  retained,  for  no  resource 

Awaits  me  :  now  behold  the  change  of  all. 

I  cannot  chain  my  soul,  it  will  not  rest 

In  its  clay  prison,  this  most  narrow  sphere  : 

It  has  strange  powers  and  feelings  and  desires, 

Which  I  cannot  account  for  nor  explain, 

But  which  I  stifle  not,  being  bound  to  trust 

All  feelings  equally,  to  hear  all  sides  : 

Yet  I  cannot  indulge  them,  and  they  live, 

Referring  to  some  state  or  life  unknown. 

My  selfishness  is  satiated  not. 

It  wears  me  like  a  flame  ;  my  hunger 

For  all  pleasure,  howsoe'er  minute,  is  pain  ; 

I  envy  —  how  I  envy  him  whose  mind 

Turns  with  its  energies  to  some  one  end, 

To  elevate  a  sect  or  a  pursuit 

However  mean  1     So,  my  still  baffled  hopes 

Seek  out  abstractions  ;  1  would  have  but  one 


PAULINE.  251 

Delight  on  earth,  so  it  were  wholly  mine, 
One  rapture  all  my  soul  could  fill :  and  this 
Wild  feeling  places  me  in  dream  afar 
In  some  wild  country  where  the  eye  can  see 
No  end  to  the  far  hills  and  dales  bestrewn 
With  shining  towers  and  dwellings  :  I  grow  mad 
Well-nigh,  to  know  not  one  abode  but  holds 
Some  pleasure,  for  my  soul  could  grasp  them  all 
But  must  remain  with  this  vile  form.     I  look 
\\'ith  hope  to  age  at  last,  which  quenching  much, 
May  let  me  concentrate  the  sparks  it  spares. 

This  restlessness  of  passion  meets  in  me 
A  craving  after  knowledge  :  the  sole  proof 
Of  a  commanding  will  is  in  that  power 
Repressed  ;  for  I  beheld  it  in  its  dawn. 
That  sleepless  harpy  with  its  budding  wings, 
And  I  considered  whether  I  should  yield 
All  hopes  and  fears,  to  live  alone  with  it, 
Finding  a  recompense  in  its  wild  eyes  ; 
And  when  I  found  that  I  should  perish  so, 
I  bade  its  wild  e3'es  close  from  me  forever, 
And  I  am  left  alone  with  my  delights  ; 
So,  it  lies  in  me  a  chained  thing,  still  ready 
To  serve  me,  if  I  loose  its  slightest  bond  : 
I  cannot  but  be  proud  of  my  bright  slave. 


252  PAULINE. 

And  thus  I  know  this  earth  is  not  my  sphere, 

For  I  cannot  so  narrow  me  but  that 

I  still  exceed  it  :  in  their  elements 

My  love  would  pass  my  reason  ;  but  since  here 

Love  must  receive  its  objects  from  this  earth 

While  reason  will  be  chainless,  the  few  truths 

Caught  from  its  wanderings  have  sufficed  to  quell 

All  love  below  ;  then  what  must  be  that  love 

Which,  with  the  object  it  demands,  would  quell 

Reason  tho'  it  soared  with  the  seraphim  ? 

No,  what  I  feel  may  pass  all  human  love 

Yet  fall  far  short  of  what  my  love  should  be. 

And  yet  I  seem  more  warped  in  this  than  aught, 

For  here  myself  stands  out  more  hideously  : 

I  can  forget  myself  in  friendship,  fame, 

Or  liberty,  or  love  of  mighty  souls  ; 

But  I  begin  to  know  what  thing  hate  is  — 

To  sicken  and  to  quiver  and  grow  white  — 

And  I  myself  have  furnished  its  first  prey. 

All  my  sad  weaknesses,  this  wavering  will, 

This  selfishness,  this  still  decaying  frame.  .  .  . 

But  I  must  never  grieve  while  I  can  pass 

Far  from  such  thoughts  —  as  now,  Andromeda  ! 

And  she  is  with  me  :  years  roll,  I  shall  change, 

But  change  can  touch  her  not  —  so  beautiful 

With  her  dark  eyes,  earnest  and  still,  and  hair 

Lifted  and  spread  by  the  salt-sweeping  breeze, 


PAULINA  253 

And  one  red  beam,  all  the  storm  leaves  in  heaven, 

Resting  upon  her  eyes  and  face  and  hair 

As  she  awaits  the  snake  on  the  wet  beach 

By  the  dark  rock  and  the  white  wave  just  breaking 

At  her  feet ;  quite  naked  and  alone  ;  a  thing 

You  doubt  not,  nor  fear  for,  secure  that  God 

Will  come  in  thunder  from  the  stars  to  save  her. 

Let  it  pass  !     I  will  call  another  change. 

I  will  be  gifted  with  a  wondrous  soul. 

Yet  sunk  by  error  to  men's  sympathy, 

And  in  the  wane  of  life,  yet  only  so 

As  to  call  up  their  fears  ;  and  there  shall  come 

A  time  requiring  youth's  best  energies  ; 

And  straight  I  fling  age,  sorrow,  sickness  off. 

And  I  rise  triumphing  over  my  decay. 

And  thus  it  is  that  I  supply  the  chasm 
'Twixt  what  I  am  and  all  that  I  would  be  : 
But  then  to  know  nothing,  to  hope  for  nothing, 
To  seize  on  life's  dull  joys  from  a  strange  fear 
Lest,  losing  them,  all 's  lost  and  nought  remains ! 

There  's  some  vile  juggle  with  my  reason  here  ; 
I  feel  I  but  explain  to  my  own  loss 
These  impulses  ;  they  live  no  less  the  same. 
Liberty  !  what  though  I  despair  ?  my  blood 
Rose  not  at  a  slave's  name  proudlier  than  now, 


254  -^PAULINE. 

And  sympathy,  obscured  by  sophistries  ! 

Why  have  not  I  sought  refuge  in  myself, 

But  for  the  woes  I  saw  and  could  not  stay  ? 

And  love  !  do  not  I  love  thee,  my  Pauline  ? 

I  cherish  prejudice,  lest  I  be  left 

Utterly  loveless  —  witness  tliis  belief 

In  poets,  though  sad  change  has  come  there  too  ; 

No  more  I  leave  myself  to  follow  them  — 

Unconsciously  I  measure  me  by  them  — 

Let  me  forget  it :  and  I  cherish  most 

My  love  of  England  —  how  her  name,  a  word 

Of  hers  in  a  strange  tongue  makes  my  heart  beat  ! 

Pauline,  I  could  do  anything  —  not  now  — 

All 's  fever  —  but  when  calm  shall  come  again, 

I  am  prepared  :  I  have  made  life  my  own. 

I  would  not  be  content  with  all  the  change 

One  frame  should  feel,  but  I  have  gone  in  thought 

Thro'  all  conjuncture,  I  have  lived  all  life 

When  it  is  most  alive,  where  strangest  fate 

Now  shapes  it  past  surmise  —  the  tales  of  men 

Bit  by  some  curse  or  in  the  grasps  of  doom 

Half-visible  and  still  increasing  round, 

Or  crowning  their  wide  being's  general  aim. 

These  are  wild  fancies,  but  I  feel,  sweet  friend, 
As  one  breatliing  his  weakness  to  the  ear 


PAULINE.  255 

Of  pitying  angel  —  dear  as  a  winter  flower, 

A  slight  flower  growing  alone,  and  oft'ering 

Its  frail  cup  of  three  leaves  to  the  cold  sun. 

Yet  joyous  and  confiding  like  the  triumph 

Of  a  child  :  and  why  am  I  not  worthy  thee  ? 

I  can  live  all  the  life  of  plants,  and  gaze 

Drowsily  on  the  bees  that  flit  and  play. 

Or  bare  my  breast  for  sunbeams  which  will  kill, 

Or  open  in  the  night  of  sounds,  to  look 

For  the  dim  stars  ;  I  can  mount  with  the  bird 

Leaping  airily  his  pyramid  of  leaves 

And  twisted  boughs  of  some  tall  mountain  tree, 

Or  rise  cheerfully  springing  to  the  heavens  ; 

Or  like  a  fish  breathe  in  the  morning  air 

In  the  misty  sun-warm  water ;  or  with  flowers 

And  trees  can  smile  in  light  at  the  sinking  sun 

Just  as  the  storm  comes,  as  a  girl  would  look 

On  a  departing  lover  —  most  serene. 

Pauline,  come  with  me,  see  how  I  could  build 
A  home  for  us,  out  of  the  world,  in  thought ! 
I  am  inspired  :  come  with  me,  Pauline  ! 

Night,  and  one  single  ridge  of  narrow  path 
Between  the  sullen  river  and  the  woods 
Waving  and  muttering,  for  the  moonless  night 
Has  shaped  them  into  images  of  life, 


256  PAULINE. 

Like  the  upraising  of  the  giant-ghosts, 
Looking  on  earth  to  know  how  their  sons  fare  : 
Thou  art  so  close  by  me,  the  roughest  swell 
Of  wind  in  the  tree-tops  hides  not  the  panting 
Of  thy  soft  breasts.     No,  we  will  pass  to  morning  — 
Morning,  the  rocks  and  valleys,  and  old  woods. 
How  the  sun  brightens  in  the  mist,  and  here, 
Half  in  the  air,  like  creatures  of  the  place, 
Trusting  the  element,  living  on  high  boughs 
That  swing  in  the  wind  —  look  at  the  golden  spray 
Flung  from  the  foam-sheet  of  the  cataract 
Amid  the  broken  rocks  !     Shall  we  stay  here 
With  the  wild  hawks  ?     No,  ere  the  hot  noon  come. 
Dive  we  clown  —  safe  ?     See  this  our  new  retreat 
Walled  in  with  a  sloped  mound  of  matted  shrubs, 
Dark,  tangled,  old  and  green,  still  sloping  down 
To  a  small  pool  whose  waters  lie  asleep 
Amid  the  trailing  boughs  turned  water-plants  : 
And  tall  trees  over-arch  to  keep  us  in, 
Breaking  the  sunbeams  into  emerald  shafts, 
And  in  the  dreamy  water  one  small  group 
Of  two  or  three  strange  trees  are  got  together 
Wondering  at  all  around,  as  strange  beasts  herd 
Together  far  from  their  own  land  :  all  wildness, 
No  turf  nor  moss,  for  boughs  and  plants  pave  all, 
And  tongues  of  bank  go  shelving  in  the  waters. 
Where  the  pale-throated  snake  reclines  his  head, 


PAULINE.  257 

And  old  grey  stones  lie  making  eddies  there, 
The  wild  mice  cross  them  dr)-  shod  :  deeper  in 
Shut  thy  soft  eyes  —  now  look  —  still  deeper  in  ! 
This  is  the  very  heart  of  the  woods  all  round 
Mountain-like  heaped  above  us  ;  yet  even  here 
One  pond  of  water  gleams  ;  far  off  the  river 
Sweeps  like  a  sea,  barred  out  from  land  ;  but  one  — 
One  thin  clear  sheet  has  over-leaped  and  wound 
Into  this  silent  depth,  which  gained,  it  lies 
Still,  as  but  let  by  sufferance  ;  the  trees  bend 
O'er  it  as  wild  men  watch  a  sleeping  girl. 
And  through  their  roots  long  creeping  plants  stretch 

out 
Their  twined  hair,  steeped  and  sparkling  ;  farther  on. 
Tall  rushes  and  thick  ilag-knots  have  combined 
To  narrow  it ;  so,  at  length,  a  silver  thread, 
It  winds,  all  noiselessly  through  the  deep  wood 
Till  thro'  a  cleft  way,  thro'  the  moss  and  stone, 
It  joins  its  parent-river  with  a  shout. 
Up  for  the  glowing  day,  leave  the  old  woods  ! 
See,  they  part,  like  a  ruined  arch,  the  sky  ! 
Nothing  but  sky  appears,  so  close  the  roots 
And  grass  of  the  hill-top  level  with  the  air  — 
Blue  sunny  air,  where  a  great  cloud  floats  laden 
With  light,  like  a  dead  whale  that  white  birds  pick, 
Floating  aw-ay  in  the  sun  in  some  north  sea. 
Air,  air,  fresh  life-blood,  thin  and  searching  air, 
17 


258  PAULINE. 

The  clear,  dear  breath  of  God  that  loveth  us, 
Where  small  birds  reel  and  winds  take  their  delight ! 
Water  is  beautiful,  but  not  like  air  : 
See,  where  the  solid  azure  waters  lie 
Made  as  of  thickened  air,  and  down  below, 
The  fern-ranks  like  a  forest  spread  themselves 
As  though  each  pore  could  feel  the  element ; 
Where  the  quick  glancing  serpent  winds  his  way. 
Float  with  me  there,  Pauline  !  — but  not  like  air. 
Down  the  hill !     Stop  —  a  clump  of  trees,  see,  set 
On  a  heap  of  rocks,  w^hich  look  o'er  the  far  plains, 
And  envious  climbing  shrubs  would  mount  to  rest 
And  peer  from  their  spread  boughs  ;  there  they  wave, 

looking 
At  the  muleteers  who  whistle  as  they  go 
To  the  merry  chime  of  their  morning  bells,  and  all 
The  little  smoking  cots  and  fields  and  banks 
And  copses  bright  in  the  sun.     My  spirit  winders  : 
Hedge-rows  for  me  —  still,  living  hedge-rows  where 
The  bushes  close  and  clasp  above  and  keep 
Thought  in  —  I  am  concentrated  —  I  feel ; 
But  my  soul  saddens  when  it  looks  beyond  : 
I  cannot  be  immortal  nor  taste  all. 
O   God,   where   does    this    tend  —  these    struggling 

aims  ?  ^ 

1  Je  Grains  bien  que  mon  pauvre  ami  ne  soit  pas  toujours  par- 
faitement  compris  dans  ce  qui  reste  a  lire  de  cet  etrange  frag- 


PAULINE.  259 

What  would   I  have  ?     What  is  this   "  sleep "  which 

seems 
To  bound  all  ?     Can  there  be  a  "  waking  "  point 

ment,  mais  il  est  moins  propre  que  tout  autre  a  eclaircir  ce  qui 
de  sa  nature  ne  peut  jamais  etre  que  songe  et  confusion.  D'ail- 
leurs  je  ne  sais  trop  si  en  cherchant  a  mieux  co-ordonner  certaines 
parties  Ton  ne  courrait  pas  le  risque  de  nuire  au  seul  merite  au- 
quel  une  production  si  singuliere  peut  pretendre,  celui  de  donner 
une  idee  assez  precise  du  genre  qu'elle  n'a  fait  qu'ebaucher.  Ce 
debut  sans  pretention,  ce  remuement  des  passions  qui  va  d'abord 
en  accroissant  et  puis  s'appaise  par  degres,  ces  elans  de  Tame,  ce 
retour  soudain  sur  soi-meme,  et  par-dessus  tout,  la  tournne  d'es- 
prit  tout  particuliere  de  mon  ami,  rendent  les  changemens  presque 
impossibles.  Les  raisons  qu'il  fait  valoir  ailleurs,  et  d'alitres  encore 
plus  puissantes,  ont  fait  trouver  grace  a  mes  3eux  pour  cet  ecrit 
qu'autrement  je  lui  eusse  conseille  de  jeter  au  feu.  Je  n'en  crois 
pas  moins  au  grand  principe  de  toute  composition  —  a  ce  prin- 
cipe  de  Shakespeare,  de  Rafaelle,  de  Beethoven,  d'ou  il  suit  que 
la  concentration  des  idees  est  due  bien  plus  a  leur  conception  qu'a 
leur  mise  en  execution  :  j'ai  tout  lieu  de  craindre  que  la  premiere 
de  ces  qualites  ne  soit  encore  etrangere  a  mon  ami,  et  je  doute 
fort  qu'un  redoublement  de  travail  lui  fasse  acquerir  la  seconde. 
Le  mieux  serait  de  bruler  ceci ;  mais  que  faire  ? 

Je  crois  que  dans  ce  qui  suit  il  fait  allusion  a  un  certain  ex- 
amen  qu'il  fit  autrefois  de  I'ame  ou  plutot  de  son  ame,  pour  de- 
couvrir  la  suite  des  objets  auxquels  il  lui  serait  possible  d'atteindre, 
et  dont  chacun  une  fois  obtenu  devait  former  une  espece  de  pla- 
teau d'oii  Ton  pouvait  aper9evoir  d'autres  buts,  d'autres  projets, 
d'autres  jouissances  qui,  a  leur  tour,  devaient  etre  surmontes.  II 
en  resultait  que  I'oubli  et  le  sommeil  devaient  tout  terminer. 
Cette  idee,  que  je  ne  saisis  pas  parfaitement,  lui  est  peutetre  aussi 
in  intelligible  qu'a  moi.  Pauline. 


26o  PAULINE. 

Of  crowning  life  ?     Tlie  soul  would  never  rule  ; 

It  would  be  first  in  all  things,  it  would  have 

Its  utmost  pleasure  filled,  but,  that  complete, 

Commanding,  for  commanding,  sickens  it. 

The  last  point  I  can  trace  is,  rest,  beneath 

Some  better  essence  than  itself,  in  weakness  ; 

This  is  "  myself,"  not  what  I  think  should  be  : 

And  what  is  that  I  hunger  for  but  God  ? 

My  God,  my  God,  let  me  for  once  look  on  thee 

As  though  nought  else  existed,  we  alone  ! 

And  as  creation  crumbles,  my  soul's  spark 

Expands  till  I  can  say,  —  Even  from  myself 

I  need  thee  and  I  feel  thee  and  I  love  thee  : 

I  do  not  plead  my  rapture  in  thy  works 

For  love  of  thee,  nor  that  I  feel  as  one 

Who  cannot  die  :  but  there  is  that  in  me 

Which  turns  to   thee,  which  loves,  or  which   should 

love. 
Why  have  I  girt  myself  with  this  hell-dress  ? 
Why  have  I  labored  to  put  out  my  life  ? 
Is  it  not  in  my  nature  to  adore, 
And  e'en  for  all  my  reason  do  I  not 
Feel  him,  and  thank  him,  and  pray  to  him  —  now? 
Can  I  forego  the  trust  that  he  loves  me  ? 
Do  I  not  feel  a  love  which  only  one  .  .  . 

0  thou  pale  form,  so  dimly  seen,  deep-eyed ! 

1  have  denied  thee  calmly  —  do  I  not 


PAULINE.  261 

Pant  when  I  read  of  thy  consummate  deeds, 

And  burn  to  see  thy  cahn  pure  truths  out-flash 

The  brightest  gleams  of  earth's  iDhilosojDhy  ? 

Do  I  not  shake  to  hear  aught  question  thee  ? 

If  I  am  erring  save  me,  madden  me. 

Take  from  me  powers  and  pleasures,  let  me  die 

Ages,  so  I  see  thee  !     I  am  knit  round 

As  with  a  charm  by  sin  and  lust  and  pride. 

Yet    though   my   wandering    dreams    have   seen   all 

shapes 
Of  strange  delight,  oft  have  I  stood  by  thee  — 
Have  I  been  keeping  lonely  watch  with  thee 
In  the  damp  night  by  weeping  Olivet, 
Or  leaning  on  thy  bosom,  proudly  less, 
Or  dying  with  thee  on  the  lonely  cross. 
Or  witnessing  thy  bursting  from  the  tomb  ! 

A  mortal,  sin's  familiar  friend,  doth  here 
Avow  that  he  will  give  all  earth's  reward, 
But  to  believe  and  humbly  teach  the  faith, 
In  suffering  and  poverty  and  shame. 
Only  believing  he  is  not  unloved. 

And  now,  my  Pauline,  I  am  thine  forever ! 
I  feel  the  spirit  which  has  buoyed  me  up 
Deserting  me,  and  old  shades  gathering  on  ; 
Yet  while  its  last  light  waits,  I  would  say  much. 


262  PAULINE. 

And  chiefly,  I  am  glad  that  I  have  said 

That  love  which  I  have  ever  felt  for  thee 

But  seldom  told  ;  our  hearts  so  beat  together 

That  speech  is  mockery  ;  but  when  dark  hours  come, 

And  I  feel  sad,  and  thou,  sweet,  deem'st  it  strange 

A  sorrow  moves  me,  thou  canst  not  remove. 

Look  on  this  lay  I  dedicate  to  thee. 

Which  through  thee  I  began,  and  which  I  end, 

Collecting  the  last  gleams  to  strive  to  tell 

That  I  am  thine,  and  more  than  ever  now 

That  I  am  sinking  fast :  yet  though  I  sink, 

No  less  I  feel  that  thou  hast  brought  me  bliss 

And  that  I  still  may  hope  to  win  it  back. 

Thou  knowest,  dear  friend,  I  could  not  think  all  calm, 

For  wild  dreams  followed  me  and  bore  me  off, 

And  all  was  indistinct ;  ere  one  was  caught 

Another  glanced  ;  so,  dazzled  by  my  wealth. 

Knowing  not  which  to  leave  nor  which  to  choose, 

For  all  my  thoughts  so  floated,  nought  was  fixed. 

And  then  thou  said'st  a  perfect  bard  was  one 

Who  shadowed  out  the  stages  of  all  life. 

And  so  thou  bad'st  me  tell  this  my  first  stage. 

'T  is  done,  and  even  now  I  feel  all  dim  the  shift 

Of  thought ;  these  are  my  last  thoughts  ;  I  discern 

Faintly  immortal  life  and  truth  and  good. 

And  why  thou  must  be  mine  is,  that  e'en  now 

In  the  dim  hush  of  night,  that  I  have  done, 


PAULINE.  263 

With  fears  and  sad  forebodings,  I  look  through 
And  say,  —  E'en  at  the  last  I  have  her  still, 
With  her  delicious  eyes  as  clear  as  heaven 
When  rain  in  a  quick  shower  has  beat  down  mist, 
And   clouds   float  white    in  the  sun    like   broods   of 

swans. 
How  the  blood  lies  upon  her  cheek,  all  spread 
As  thinned  by  kisses  !  only  in  her  lips 
It  wells  and  pulses  like  a  living  thing, 
And  her  neck  looks  life  marble  misted  o'er 
With  love-breath,  —  a  dear  thing  to  kiss  and  love, 
Standing  beneath  me,  looking  out  to  me, 
As  I  might  kill  her  and  be  loved  for  it. 

Love  me  —  love  me,  Pauline,  love  nought  but  me. 
Leave  me  not !     All  these  words  are  wild  and  weak, 
Believe  them  not,  Pauline  !     I  stooped  so  low 
But  to  behold  thee  purer  by  my  side, 
To  show  thou  art  my  breath,  my  life,  a  last 
Resource,  an  extreme  want :  never  believe 
Aught  better  could  so  look  to  thee  ;  nor  seek 
Again  the  world  of  good  thoughts  left  for  me  ! 
There  were  bright  troops  of  undiscovered  suns, 
Each  equal  in  their  radiant  course  ;  there  were 
Clusters  of  far  fair  isles  which  ocean  kept 
For  his  own  joy,  and  his  waves  broke  on  them 
Without  a  choice  ;  and  there  was  a  dim  crowd 


264  PA  ULINE. 

Of  visions,  each  a  part  of  the  dim  whole  : 

And  one  star  left  his  peers  and  came  with  peace 

Upon  a  storm,  and  all  eyes  pined  for  him  ; 

And  one  isle  harbored  a  sea-beaten  ship, 

And  the  crew  wandered  in  its  bowers  and  plucked 

Its  fruits  and  gave  up  all  their  hoi^es  for  home  ; 

And  one  dream  came  to  a  pale  poet's  sleep, 

And  he  said,  *'  I  am  singled  out  by  God, 

No  sin  must  touch  me."     I  am  very  weak, 

But  what  I  would  express  is,  —  Leave  me  not, 

Still  sit  by  me  with  beating  breast  and  hair 

Loosened,  be  watching  earnest  by  my  side, 

Turning  my  books  or  kissing  me  when  I 

Look  up  —  like  summer  wind  !     Be  still  to  me 

A  key  to  music's  mysteiy  when  mind  fails, 

A  reason,  a  solution  and  a  clue  ! 

You  see  I  have  thrown  off  my  prescribed  rules  : 

I  hope  in  myself  —  and  hope  and  pant  and  love. 

You  '11  find  me  better,  know  me  more  than  when 

You  loved  me  as  I  was.     Smile  not !     I  have 

IMuch  yet  to  gladden  you,  to  dawn  on  you. 

No  more  of  the  past !     I  '11  look  within  no  more. 

I  have  too  trusted  to  my  own  wild  wants, 

Too  trusted  to  myself,  to  intuition  — 

Draining  the  wine  alone  in  the  still  night, 

And  seeing  how,  as  gathering  films  arose, 

As  by  an  inspiration  life  seemed  bare 


PAULINE.  265 

And  grinning  in  its  vanity,  and  ends 

Hard  to  be  dreamed  of,  stared  at  one  as  fixed, 

And  others  suddenly  became  all  foul 

As  a  fair  witch  turned  an  old  hag  at  night. 

No  more  of  this  !     We  will  go  hand  in  hand, 

I  will  go  with  thee,  even  as  a  child, 

Looking  no  farther  than  thy  sweet  commands, 

And  thou  hast  chosen  where  this  life  shall  be  : 

The  land  which  gave  me  thee  shall  be  our  home. 

Where  nature  lies  all  wild  amid  her  lakes 

And  snow-swathed  mountains  and  vast  pines  all  girt 

With  ropes  of  snow  —  where  nature  lies  all  bare, 

Suffering  none  to  view  her  but  a  race 

Most  stinted  and  deformed,  like  the  mute  dwarfs 

Which  wait  upon  a  naked  Indian  queen. 

And  there  (the  time  being  when  the  heavens  are  thick 

With  storms)  I  '11  sit  with  thee  while  thou  dost  sing 

Thy  native  songs,  gay  as  a  desert  bird 

Who  crieth  as  he  flies  for  perfect  joy. 

Or  telling  me  old  stories  of  dead  knights ; 

Or  I  will  read  old  lays  to  thee  —  how  she, 

The  fair  pale  sister,  went  to  her  chill  grave 

With  power  to  love  and  to  be  loved  and  live : 

Or  we  will  go  together,  like  twin  gods 

Of  the  infernal  world,  with  scented  lamp 

Over  the  dead,  to  call  and  to  awake. 

Over  the  unshaped  images  which  lie 


266  FA  ULINE. 

Within  my  mind's  cave  ;  only  leaving  all, 
That  tells  of  the  past  doubts.    So,  when  spring  comes, 
And  sunshine  comes  again  like  an  old  smile, 
And  the  fresh  waters  and  awakened  birds 
And  budding  woods  await  us,  I  shall  be 
Prepared,  and  we  will  go  and  think  again, 
And  all  old  loves  shall  come  to  us,  but  changed 
As  some  sweet  thought  which  harsh  words  veiled  be- 
fore ; 
Feeling  God  loves  us,  and  that  all  that  errs 
Is  a  strange  dream  which  death  will  dissipate. 
And  then  when  I  am  firm,  we  '11  seek  again 
My  own  land,  and  again  I  will  approach 
My  old  designs,  and  calmly  look  on  all 
The  works  of  my  past  weakness,  as  one  views 
Some  scene  where  danger  met  him  long  before. 
Ah  that  such  pleasant  life  should  be  but  dreamed  ! 

But  whate'er  come  of  it,  and  though  it  fade, 

And  though  ere  the  cold  morning  all  be  gone, 

As  it  will  be  ;  —  tho'  music  wait  for  me, 

And  fair  eyes  and  bright  wine  laughing  like  sin 

Which  steals  back  softly  on  a  soul  half  saved, 

And  I  be  first  to  deny  all,  and  despise 

This  verse,  and  these  intents  which  seem  so  fair,  — 

Still  this  is  all  my  own,  this  moment's  pride, 

No  less  I  make  an  end  in  perfect  joy. 


PA  ULINE.  267 

E'en  in  my  brightest  time,  a  lurking  fear 

Possessed  me  :  I  well  knew  my  weak  resolves, 

I  felt  the  witchery  that  makes  mind  sleep 

Over  its  treasures,  as  one  half  afraid 

To  make  his  riches  definite  :  but  now 

These  feelings  shall  not  utterly  be  lost, 

I  shall  not  know  again  that  nameless  care 

Lest,  leaving  all  undone  in  youth,  some  new 

And  undreamed  end  reveal  itself  too  late  : 

For  this  song  shall  remain  to  tell  forever 

That  when  I  lost  all  hope  of  such  a  change, 

Suddenly  beauty  rose  on  me  again. 

No  less  I  make  an  end  in  perfect  joy, 

For  I,  having  thus  again  been  visited, 

Shall  doubt  not  many  another  bliss  awaits. 

And.  though  this  weak  soul  sink  and  darkness  come. 

Some  little  word  shall  light  it  up  again, 

And  I  shall  see  all  clearer  and  love  better, 

I  shall  again  go  o'er  the  tracts  of  thought 

As  one  who  has  a  right,  and  I  shall  live 

With  poets,  calmer,  purer  still  each  time, 

And  beauteous  shapes  will  come  to  me  again, 

And  unknown  secrets  will  be  trusted  me 

Which  were  not  mine  when  wavering ;  but  now 

I  shall  be  priest  and  lover  as  of  old. 

Sun-treader,  I  believe  in  God  and  truth 

And  love  ;  and  as  one  just  escaped  from  death 


268  PAULINE. 

Would  bind  himself  in  bands  of  friends  to  feel 
He  lives  indeed,  so,  I  would  lean  on  thee  ! 
Thou  must  be  ever  with  me,  most  in  gloom 
When  such  shall  come,  but  chiefly  when  I  die, 
For  I  seem,  dying,  as  one  going  in  the  dark 
To  fight  a  giant :  and  live  thou  forever. 
And  be  to  all  what  thou  hast  been  to  me  ! 
All  in  whom  this  wakes  pleasant  thoughts  of  me, 
Know  my  last  state  is  happy,  free  from  doubt 
Or  touch  of  fear.     Love  me  and  wish  me  well ! 


DRAMATIC   IDYLS. 

FIRST   SERIES. 


}£y~^^- 


W^'i 


MARTIN    RELPH. 


My  grandfather  says  he  remembers   he  saw    when  a 

youngster  loJig  ago, 
On  a  bright  May  day,  a  strange  old  man  7uith  a  beard 

as  white  as  snow, 
Stand  on  the  hill  outside  our  town  like  a  montancnt  of 

woe. 
And,  striki?ig  his  bare  bald  head  the  while,  sob  out  the 

reasoJi  —  so  / 


If  I  last  as  long  as  Methuselah  I  shall  never  forgive 

myself : 
But  —  God  forgive  me,  that  I  pray,  unhappy  Martin 

Relph, 
As  coward,  coward  I  call  him  —  him,  yes,  him  !    Away 

from  me  ! 
Get. you  behind  the  man  I  am  now,  you  man  that  I 

used  to  be  ! 


2/2  MAR  TIN-  RELPH. 

What  can  have  sewed  my  mouth  up,  set  me  a-stare,  all 

eyes,  no  tongue  ? 
People  have  urged  "  You  visit  a  scare  too  hard  on  a 

lad  so  young  ! 
You  were  taken   aback,  poor  boy,"    they  urge,    "  no 

time  to  regain  your  wits  : 
Besides  it  had  maybe  cost  you  life."    Ay,  there  is  the 

cap  which  fits ! 

So,  cap  me,  the  coward,  —  thus  !     No  fear  !     A  cuff 

on  the  brow  does  good  : 
The  feel  of  it  hinders  a  worm  inside  which  bores  at 

the  brain  for  food. 
See  now,  there  certahily  seems  excuse  :  for  a  moment, 

I  trust,  dear  friends. 
The  fault  was  but  folly,  no  fault  of  mine,  or  if  mine, 

I  have  made  amends  ! 

For,  every  day  that  is  first  of  May,  on  the  hill-top, 

here  stand  I, 
Martin  Relph,  and  I  strike  my  brow,  and  publish  the 

reason  why. 
When  there  gathers  a  crowd  to  mock  the  fool.     No 

fool,  friends,  since  the  bite 
Of  a  worm  inside  is  worse  to  bear  :  pray  God  I  have 

baulked  him  quite  ! 


MARTIN  RELPH.  273 

I  '11  tell  you.    Certainly  much  excuse  !    It  came  of  the 

way  they  cooped 
Us  peasantry  up  in  a  ring  just  here,  close  huddling 

because  tight-hooped 
By  the  red-coats  round  us  villagers  all :  they  meant  we 

should  see  the  sight 
And  take  the  example,  —  see,  not  speak,  for  speech 

was  the  Captain's  right. 

"  You  clowns  on  the  slope,  beware  !  "  cried  he  :  "  This 

woman  about  to  die 
Gives  by  her  fate  fair  warning  to  such  acquaintance  as 

play  the  spy. 
Henceforth  who  meddle  with  matters  of  state  above 

them  perhaps  will  learn 
That  peasants  should  stick  to  their  plough-tail,  leave 

to  the  King  the  King's  concern. 

"  Here  's  a  quarrel  that  sets  the  land  on  fire,  between 

King  George  and  his  foes  : 
What  call   has    a  man  of  your  kind  —  much  less,  a 

woman  —  to  interpose  ? 
Yet  you  needs  must  be  meddling,  folks  like  you,  not 

foes  —  so  much  the  worse  ! 
The  many  and  loyal  should  keep  themselves  unmixed 

with  the  few  perverse. 
18 


274  MARTIN  RELPH. 

"  Is  the  counsel  hard  to  follow  ?    I  gave  it  you  plainly 

a  month  ago, 
And  where  was  the  good  ?     The  rebels  have  learned 

just  all  that  they  need  to  know. 
Not  a  month  since  in  we  quietly  marched  :  a  week, 

and  they  had  the  news. 
From  a  list  complete  of  our  rank  and  file  to  a  note  of 

our  caps  and  shoes. 

"  All  about  all  we  did  and  all  we  were  doing  and  like 
to  do  ! 

Only,  I  catch  a  letter  by  luck,  and  capture  who  wrote 
it,  too. 

Some  of  you  men  look  black  enough,  but  the  milk- 
white  face  demure 

Betokens  the  finger  foul  with  ink :  't  is  a  woman  who 
writes,  be  sure  ! 

"  Is  it  '  Dearie,  how  much   I   miss  your  mouth  !  '  — 

good  natural  stuff,  she  pens  ? 
Some  sprinkle  of  that,  for  a  blind,  of  course :  with  talk 

about  cocks  and  hens. 
How    '  robin   has   built   on    the    apple-tree,   and    our 

creeper  which  came  to  grief 
Through  the  frost,  we  feared,  is  twining  afresh  round 

casement  in  famous  leaf.' 


MARTIN  HELPH.  275 

"  But  all  for  a  blind  !  She  soon  glides  frank  into 
'  Horrid  the  place  is  grown 

With  Officers  here  and  Privates  there,  no  nook  we 
may  call  our  own  : 

And  Farmer  Giles  has  a  tribe  to  house,  and  lodging 
will  be  to  seek 

For  the  second  Company  sure  to  come  ('t  is  whis- 
pered) on  Monday  week.' 

"And  so  to  the  end  of  the  chapter!  There!  The 
murder,  you  see,  was  out : 

Easy  to  guess  how  the  change  of  mind  in  the  rebels 
was  brought  about ! 

Safe  in  the  trap  would  they  now  lie  snug,  had  treach- 
ery made  no  sign  : 

But  treacher}'  meets  a  just  reward,  no  matter  if  fools 
malign  ! 

"That  traitors  had  played  us  false,  was  proved  —  sent 

news  which  fell  so  pat : 
And  the   murder  w^as   out  —  this  letter  of   love,  the 

sender  of  this  sent  that ! 
'Tis  an  ugly  job,  though,  all  the  same  —  a  hateful,  to 

have  to  deal 
With  a  case  of  the  kind,  when  a  woman  's  in  fault : 

we  soldiers  need  nerves  of  steel ! 


276  MARTIN  RELPII. 

*'  So,  I  gave  her  a  chance,  despatched  post-haste  a 

message  to  Vincent  Parkes 
Whom  she  wrote  to ;  easy  to  find  he  was,  since  one 

of  the  King's  own  clerks, 
Ay,  kept  by  the  King's  own  gold  in  the  town  close  by 

where  the  rebels  camp  : 
A  sort  of  a  lawyer,  just  the  man  to  betray  our  sort  — 

the  scamp  ! 

"  '  If  her  writing  is  simple  and  honest  and  only  the 

lover-like  stuff  it  looks. 
And  if  you  yourself  are  a  loyalist,  nor  down  in  the 

rebels'  books. 
Come  quick,'  said  I,  '  and  in  person  prove  you  are 

each  of  you  clear  of  crime, 
Or  martial  law  must  take  its  course  :  this  day  next 

week 's  the  time  ! ' 

"  Next  week  is  now  :  does  he  come  ?    Not  he  !    Clean 

gone,  our  clerk,  in  a  trice  ! 
He  has  left  his  sweetheart  here  in  the  lurch  :  no  need 

of  a  warning  twice  ! 
His  own  neck  free,  but  his  partner's  fast  in  the  noose 

still,  here  she  stands 
To  pay  for  her  fault.     'T  is  an  ugly  job  :  but  soldiers 

obey  commands. 


MARTIN  RELPH.  277 

**  And  hearken  wherefore  I  make  a  speech  !  Should 
any  acquaintance  share 

The  folly  that  led  to  the  fault  that  is  now  to  be  pun- 
ished, let  fools  beware  ! 

Look  black,  if  you  please,  but  keep  hands  white  :  and, 
above  all  else,  keep  wives  — 

Or  sweethearts  or  what  they  may  be  —  from  ink  ! 
Not  a  word  now,  on  your  lives  !  " 

Black  ?  but  the  Pit's  own  pitch  was  white  to  the  Cap- 
tain's face  —  the  brute 

With  the  bloated  cheeks  and  the  bulgy  nose  and  the 
blood-shot  eyes  to  suit ! 

He  was  muddled  with  wine,  they  say  :  more  like,  he 
was  out  of  his  wits  with  fear  ; 

He  had  but  a  handful  of  men,  that 's  true,  —  a  riot 
might  cost  him  dear. 

And  all  that  time  stood  Rosamund  Page,  with  pin- 
ioned arms  and  face 

Bandaged  about,  on  the  turf  marked  out  for  the 
party's  firing-place. 

I  hope  she  was  wholly  with  God  :  I  hope  't  was  His 
angel  stretched  a  hand 

To  steady  her  so,  like  the  shape  of  stone  you  see  in 
our  church-aisle  stand. 


2/8  MARTIN  RELPH. 

I  hope  there  was  no  vain  fancy  pierced  the  bandage 
to  vex  her  eyes, 

No  face  within  which  she  missed  without,  no  ques- 
tions and  no  repUes  — 

"Why  did  you  leave  me  to  die  ?  "  —  "  Because.  .  .  ." 
Oh,  fiends,  too  soon  you  grin 

At  merely  a  moment  of  hell,  like  that  —  such  heaven 
as  hell  ended  in  ! 

Let  mine  end  too  !     He  gave  the  word,  up  went  the 

gims  in  a  line  : 
Those  heaped  on  the  hill  were  blind  as  dumb,  —  for, 

of  all  eyes,  only  mine 
Looked  over  the  heads  of  the  foremost  rank.     Some 

fell  on  their  knees  in  prayer. 
Some  sank  to  the  earth,  but  all  shut  eyes,  with  a  sole 

exception  there. 

That  was  myself,  who  had  stolen  up  last,  had  sidled 
behind  the  group  : 

I  am  highest  of  all  on  the  hill-top,  there  stand  fixed 
while  the  others  stoop  ! 

From  head  to  foot  in  a  serpent's  twine  am  I  tight- 
ened :  /  touch  ground  ? 

No  more  than  a  gibbet's  rigid  corpse  which  the  fetters 
rust  around ! 


MARTIN  RELPH.  279 

Can  I  speak,  can  I  breathe,  can  I  burst  —  aught  else 

but  see,  see,  only  see  ? 
And  see  I  do  —  for  there  comes  in  sight  —  a  man,  it 

sure  must  be  !  — 
Who   staggeringly,  stumblingly,  rises,  falls,    rises,  at 

random  flings  his  weight 
On  and  on,  anyhow  onward  —  a  man  that 's  mad  he 

arrives  too  late  ! 

Else  why  does  he  wave  a  something  white  high-flour- 
ished above  his  head  ? 

Why  does  not  he  call,  cr}',  —  curse  the  fool !  —  why 
throw  up  his  arms  instead  ? 

O  take  this  fist  in  your  own  face,  fool !  Why  does  not 
yourself  shout  "  Stay  ! 

Here  's  a  man  comes  rushing,  might  and  main,  with 
something  he  's  mad  to  say  ?  " 

And  a  minute,  only  a  moment,  to  have  hell-fire  boil 

up  in  your  brain, 
And  ere  you  can  judge  things  right,  choose  heaven, 

—  time  's  over,  repentance  vain  ! 
They  level  :    a  volley,  a  smoke    and  the    clearing  of 

smoke  :  I  see  no  more 
Of  the  man  smoke  hid,  nor  his  frantic  arms,  nor  the 

something  white  he  bore. 


28o  MARTIN  RELPH. 

But  Stretched  on  the  field,  some  half-mile  off,  is  an 
object.     Surely  dumb. 

Deaf,  blind  were  we  struck,  that  nobody  heard,  not 
one  of  us  saw  him  come  ! 

Has  he  fainted  through  fright  ?  One  may  well  be- 
lieve !     What  is  it  he  holds  so  fast  ? 

Turn  him  over,  examine  the  face  !  Heyday  !  What 
Vincent  Parkes  at  last  ? 

Dead  !  dead  as  she,  by  the  self-same  shot :  one  bullet 

has  ended  both. 
Her  in  the  body  and  him  in  the  soul.     They  laugh  at 

our  plighted  troth. 
"Till  death  us  do  part .-'  "     Till  death  us  do  join  past 

parting  —  that  sounds  like 
Betrothal  indeed  !     O  Vincent  Parkes,  what  need  has 

my  fist  to  strike  ? 

I    helped  you:   thus  were  you  dead  and   wed:  one 

bound,  and  your  soul  reached  hers  ! 
There  is  clenched  in  your  hand    the  thing,  signed, 

sealed,  the  paper  which  plain  avers 
She   is   innocent,   innocent,   plain   as   print,  with  the 

King's  Arms  broad  engraved  : 
No  one  can  hear,  but  if  anyone  high  on  the  hill  can 

see,  she 's  saved ! 


MARTIN  RELPH.  28 1 

And  torn  his  garb  and  bloody  his  lips  with  heart-break, 

—  plain  it  grew 

How  the  week's  delay  had  been  brought]  about :  each 

guess  at  the  end  proved  true. 
It  was  hard  to  get  at  the  folks  in  power  :  such  waste 

of  time  !  and  then 
Such    pleading  and  praying,  with,  all  the  while,  his 

lamb  in  the  lion's  den  ! 

And  at  length  when  he  wrung  their  pardon  out,  no 
end  to  the  stupid  forms  — 

The  license  and  leave  :  I  make  no  doubt  —  what  won- 
der if  passion  warms 

The  pulse  in  a  man  if  you  play  with  his  heart  ?  —  he 
was  something  hasty  in  speech  ; 

Anyhow,  none  would  quicken  the  work  :  he  had  to  be- 
seech, beseech  ! 

And  the  thing  once  signed,  sealed,  safe  in  his  grasp, 

—  what  followed  but  fresh  delays  ? 

For  the  floods  were  out,  he  was  forced  to  take  such  a 

roundabout  of  ways  ! 
And  't  was  "  Halt  there  !  "  at  ever}-  turn  of  the  road, 

since  he  had  to  cross  the  thick 
Of  the  red-coats  :  what  did  they  care  for  him  and  his 

"  Quick,  for  God's  sake,  quick  !  " 


282  MARTIN  RELPH, 

Horse  ?  but  he  had  one  :  had  it  how  long  ?  till  the 

first  knave  smirked  "  You  brag 
Yourself  a  friend  of  the  King's  ?  then  lend  to  a  King's 

friend  here  your  nag  !  " 
Money  to  buy  another  ?     Why,  piece  by  piece  they 

plundered  him  still 
With  their  "  Wait  you  must,  —  no  help  :  if  aught  can 

help  you,  a  guinea  will !  " 

And   a  borough   there  was  —  I  forget   the  name  — 

whose  Mayor  must  have  the  bench 
Of  Justices  ranged  to  clear  a  doubt :  for  "  Vincent," 

thinks  he,  sounds  French  ! 
It  well  may  have  driven  him  daft,  God  knows  !   all 

man  can  certainly  know 
Is  —  rushing  and  falling  and  rising,  at  last  he  arrived 

in  a  horror  —  so  ! 

When  a  word,  cr}-,  gasp,  would  have  rescued  both  ! 

Ay,  bite  me  !     The  worm  begins 
At  his  work  once  more.     Had  cowardice  proved  — 

that  only  —  my  sin  of  sins  ! 
Friends,  look  you  here  !     Suppose  .  .  .  suppose  .  .  . 

But  mad  I  am,  needs  must  be  ! 
Judas  the  Damned  would  never  have  dared  such  a  sin 

as  I  dream  !     For,  see  ! 


MARTIN  RELPH.  283 

Suppose    I    had    sneakingly   loved    her  myself,    my 

wretched  self,  and  dreamed 
In  the  heart  of  me  "  She  were  better  dead  than  happy 

and  his  !  "  —  while  gleamed 
A  light  from  hell  as  I  spied  the  pair  in   a  perfectest 

embrace, 
He  the  saviour  and  she  the  saved,  —  bliss  born  of  the 

very  murder-place  ! 

No  !     Say  I  was  scared,  friends  !     Call  me  fool  and 

coward,  but  nothing  worse  ! 
Jeer  at  the  fool  and  gibe  at  the  coward  !     'T  was  ever 

the  coward's  curse 
That  fear  breeds  fancies   in  such :    such  take   their 

shadow  for  substance  still, 
—  A  fiend  at  their  back.    I  liked  poor  Parkes,  —  loved 

Vincent,  if  you  will  ! 

And   her  —  why,    I    said    "Good   morrow"   to   her, 

"  Good  even,"  and  nothing  more  : 
The  neighborly  way  !     She  was  just  to  me  as  fifty  had 

been  before. 
So,  coward  it  is   and  coward  shall  be  !     There  's  a 

friend,  now  !     Thanks  !     A  drink 
Of  water  I  wanted  :  and  now  I  can  walk,  get  home  by 

myself,  I  think. 


PHEIDIPPIDES. 


First  I  salute  this  soil  of  the  blessed,  river  and  rock ! 

Gods  of  my  birthplace,  demons  and  heroes,  honor  to 
all! 

Then  I  name  thee,  claim  thee  for  our  patron,  co-equal 
in  praise 

—  Ay,  with  Zeus  the  Defender,  with  Her  of  the  aegis 
and  spear ! 

Also,  ye  of  the  bow  and  the  buskin,  praised  be  your 
peer. 

Now,  henceforth  and  forever,  —  O  latest  to  whom  I 
upraise 

Hand  and  heart  and  voice  !  For  Athens,  leave  pas- 
ture and  flock  ! 

Present  to  help,  potent  to  save.  Pan  —  patron  I  call ! 

Archons  of  Athens,  topped  by  the  tettix,  see,  I  re- 
turn ! 


PHEIDIPPIDES.  285 

See,  'tis  myself  here  standing  alive,  no  spectre  that 

speaks  ! 
Crowned  with  the  myrtle,  did  you  command  me,  Ath- 
ens and  you, 
"  Run,  Pheidippides,  run  and  race,  reach  Sparta  for 

aid! 
Persia  has  come,  we  are  here,  where  is  She  ?  "     Your 

command  I  obeyed. 
Ran  and  raced  :  like  stubble,  some  field  which  a  fire 

runs  through, 
Was  the  space  between  city  and  city :  two  days,  two 

nights  did  I  burn 
Over  the   hills,  under  the   dales,  down    pits  and  up 

peaks. 

Into  their  midst  I  broke  :  breath  served  but  for  "  Per- 
sia has  come  ! 

Persia  bids  Athens  proffer  slaves'-tribute,  water  and 
earth  ; 

Razed  to  the  ground  is  Eretria  —  but  Athens,  shall 
Athens  sink. 

Drop  into  dust  and  die  —  the  flower  of  Hellas  utterly 
die, 

Die,  with  the  wide  world  spitting  at  Sparta,  the  stu- 
pid, the  stander-by  ? 

Answer  me  quick,  what  help,  what  hand  do  you  stretch 
o'er  destruction's  brink  ? 


286  PHEIDIPPIDES, 

How,  —  when  ?     No   care   for   my   limbs  !  —  there  's 

^      lightnhig  in  all  and  some  ■ — 
Fresh  and  fit  your  message  to  bear,  once  lips  give  it 
birth  !  " 

O  my  Athens  —  Sparta  love  thee  ?  Did  Sparta  re- 
spond ? 

Ever)'  face  of  her  leered  in  a  furrow  of  envy,  mistrust, 

Malice,  —  each  eye  of  her  gave  me  its  glitter  of  grati- 
fied hate  ! 

Gravely  they  turned  to  take  counsel,  to  cast  for  ex- 
cuses.    I  stood 

Quivering,  —  the  limbs  of  me  fretting  as  fire  frets,  an 
inch  from  dry  wood  : 

"  Persia  has  come,  Athens  asks  aid,  and  still  they  de- 
bate ? 

Thunder,  thou  Zeus  !  Athene,  are  Spartans  a  quarry 
beyond 

Swing  of  thy  spear  ?  Phoibos  and  Artemis,  clang 
them  '  Ye  must ' !  " 

No  bolt  launched  from  Olumpos  !     Lo,  their  answer 

at  last ! 
"  Has  Persia  come,  —  does  Athens   ask  aid,  —  may 

Sparta  befriend  ? 
Nowise  precipitate  judgment  —  too  weighty  the  issue 

at  stake  !    . 


PHEIDIPriDES.  287 

Count  we  no  time  lost  time  which  lags  through  re- 
spect to  the  Gods  ! 

Ponder  that  precept  of  old,  '  No  warfare,  whatever  the 
odds 

In  your  favor,  so  long  as  the  moon,  half-orbed,  is  un- 
able to  take 

Full-circle  her  state  in  the  sky ! '  Already  she  rounds 
to  it  fast : 

Athens  must  wait,  patient  as  we  —  who  judgment  sus- 
pend." 

Athens,  —  except  for  that  sparkle,  —  thy  name,  I  had 

mouldered  to  ash  ! 
That  sent  a  blaze   through   my  blood  j    off,  off   and 

away  was  I  back, 
—  Not  one  word  to  waste,  one  look   to  lose  on  the 

false  and  the  vile  ! 
Yet  "  O  Gods  of  my  land  !  "  I  cried,  as  each  hillock 

and  plain. 
Wood   and    stream,  I  knew,  I  named,  rushing   past 

them  again, 
"  Have  ye  kept  faith,  proved  mindful  of  honors  we 

paid  you  erewhile  ? 
Vain  was  the   filleted  victim,  the   fulsome   libation  ! 

Too  rash 
Love   in  its  choice,  paid  you  so   largely  service   so 

slack ! 


288  PHEIDIPPIDES. 

"  Oak  and  olive  and  bay,  —  I  bid  you  cease  to  en- 
wreathe 

Brows  made  bold  by  your  leaf !  Fade  at  the  Per- 
sian's foot, 

You  that,  our  patrons  were  pledged,  should  never 
adorn  a  slave  ! 

Rather  I  hail  thee,  Parnes,  —  trust  to  thy  wild  waste 
tract  ! 

Treeless,  herbless,  lifeless  mountain  !  What  matter 
if  slacked 

My  speed  may  hardly  be,  for  homage  to  crag  and  to 
cave 

No  deity  deigns  to  drape  with  verdure,  —  at  least  I 
can  breathe. 

Fear  in  thee  no  fraud  from  the  blind,  no  lie  from  the 
mute  !  " 

Such  my  cry  as,  rapid,  I  ran  over  Parnes'  ridge  ; 

Gully  and  gap,  I  clambered  and  cleared  till,  sudden,  a 
bar 

Jutted,  a  stoppage  of  stone  against  me,  blocking  the 
way. 

Right !  for  I  minded  the  hollow  to  traverse,  the  fis- 
sure across  : 

*'  Where  I  could  enter,  there  I  depart  by !  Night  in 
the  fosse  ? 


PHEIDIPPJDES.  289 

Out  of  the  day  div^e,  into  the  day  as  bravely  arise  ! 

No  bridge 
Better  !  "  —  when  —  ha  !  what  was   it  I  came  on,  of 

wonders  that  are  ? 

There,  in  the  cool  of  a  cleft,  sat  he  —  majestical  Pan  ! 
Ivy  drooped  wanton,  kissed  his  head,  moss  cushioned 

his  hoof  : 
All  the  great  God  was  good  in  the  eyes  grave-kindly 

—  the  curl 
Carved  on  the  bearded  cheek,  amused  at  a  mortal's 

awe. 
As.  under  the  human  trunk,  the  goat-thighs  grand  I 

saw. 
•'Halt;  Pheidippides  !  " — halt  I  did,  my  brain  of  a 

whirl  : 
"  Hither  to   me  !     Why  pale  in   my  presence  ?  "    he 

gracious  began  : 
"  How  is  it,  —  Athens,  only  in  Hellas,  holds  me  aloof  ? 

"Athens,  she  only,  rears  me  no  fane,  makes  me  no 

feast ! 
Wherefore  ?     Than  I  what  godship  to  Athens  more 

helpful  of  old  ? 
Ay,  and  still,  and  forever  her  friend  !     Put  Pan  to  the 

test ! 

19 


290  PHEIDIPPIDES. 

Go,  bid  Athens  take  heart,  laugh  Persia  to  scorn,  have 

faith 
In  the  temples  and  tombs  !     Go,  say  to  Athens,  '  The 

Goat-God  saith  : 
When  Persia  —  so  much  as  strews  not  the  soil  —  is 

cast  in  the  sea. 
Then  praise  Pan  who  fought  in  the  ranks  with  your 

most  and  least, 
Goat-thigh  to  greaved-thigh,  made  one  cause  with  the 

free  and  the  bold  ! ' 

"  Say  Pan  saith  :  '  Let  this,  foreshowing  the  place,  be 

the  pledge  ! '  " 
(Gay,  the  liberal  hand  held  out  this  herbage  I  bear 
—  Fennel,  whatever  it  bode  —  I  grasped  it  a-tremble 

with  dew) 
"While,  as  for  thee  ..."     But  enough!     He  was 

gone.     If  I  ran  hitherto  — 
Be  sure  that,  the  rest  of  my  journey,  I  ran  no  longer, 

but  flew. 
Here  am  I  back.     Praise  Pan,  we  stand  no  more  on 

the  razor's  edge  ! 

Pan  for  Athens,  Pan  for  me  !  myself  have  a  guerdon 
too! 


PHEIDIPPIDES.  291 

Then   Miltiades  spoke.     "  And  thee,  best  runner  of 

Greece, 
Whose  limbs  did  duty  indeed,  —  what  gift  is  iDvomised 

thyself  ? 
Tell  it  us  straightway,  —  Athens  the  mother  demands 

of  her  son  !  " 
Rosily  blushed  the  youth  :  he  paused  :  but,  lifting  at 

length 
His  eyes  from  the  ground,  it  seemed  as  he  gathered 

the  rest  of  his  strength 
Into  the  utterance  —  "Pan  spoke  thus:    'For  what 

thou  hast  done 
Count  on  a  worthy  reward  !     Henceforth  be  allowed 

thee  release 
From  the  racer's  toil,  no  vulgar  reward  in  praise  or  in 

pelf ! ' 

*'  I  am  bold  to  believe.  Pan  means  reward  the  most  to 

my  mind  ! 
Fight  I  shall,  with  our  foremost,  wherever  this  fennel 

may  grow,  — 
Pound  —  Pan  helping  us  —  Persia  to  dust,  and,  under 

the  deep. 
Whelm  her  away  for  ever  ;  and  then,  —  no  Athens  to 

save,  — 
Marry  a  certain   maid,   I   know   keeps   faith   to   the 

brave,  — 


292  PHEIDIPPIDES. 

Hie  to  my  house  and  home  :  and,  when  my  children 

shall  creep 
Close  to  my  knees,  —  recount  how  the  God  was  awful 

yet  kind. 
Promised   their  sire  reward   to  the  full  —  rewarding 

him  —  so!  " 


Unforeseeing  one  !     Yes,  he  fought  on  the  Marathon 

day : 
So,  when  Persia  was  dust,  all  cried  "  To  Akropolis ! 
Run,  Pheidippides,  one  race  more  !  the  meed  is  thy 

due  ! 
'Athens  is  saved,  thank  Pan,'  go  shout  !  "     He  flung 

down  his  shield, 
Ran  like  fire  once  more :   and  the  space  'twixt  the 

Fennel-field 
And  Athens  was  stubble  again,  a  field  which  a  fire 

runs  through, 
Till  in  he  broke  :  "  Rejoice,  we  conquer  ! "    Like  wine 

through  clay, 
Joy  in  his  blood  bursting  his  heart,  he  died  —  the 

bliss  ! 

So,  to  this  day,  when  friend  meets  friend,  the  word  of 
salute 

Is  still  "  Rejoice  !  "  —  his  word  which  brought  rejoic- 
ing indeed. 


PHEIDIPPIDES.  293 

So  is  Pheidippides  happy  forever,  —  the  noble  strong 

man 
Who  could  race  like  a  God,  bear  the  face  of  a  God, 

whom  a  God  loved  so  well 
He  saw  the  land  saved  he  had  helped  to  save,  and  was 

suffered  to  tell 
Such  tidings,  yet  never  decline,  but,  gloriously  as  he 

began, 
So  to  end  gloriously  —  once   to  shout,  thereafter  be 

mute  : 
"  Athens  is  saved  !  "  —  Pheidippides  dies  in  the  shout 

for  his  meed. 


HALBERT   AND    HOB. 


Here  is  a  thing  that  happened.     Like  wild   beasts 

whelped,  for  den, 
In  a  wild  part  of  North  England,  there  lived  once  two 

wild  meiV; 
Inhabiting  one  homestead,  neither  a  hovel  nor  hutf 
Time  out  of   mind  their  birthright :  father  and  son, 

these  —  but  — 
Such  a  son,  such  a  father !    Most  wildness  by  degrees 
Softens  away :  yet,  last  of  their  line,  the  wildest  and 

worst  were  these. 

Criminals,  then  ?  WTiy,  no  :  they  did  not  murder  and 
rob  ; 

But,  give  them  a  word,  they  returned  a  blow  —  old 
^a]bejl  as  j'oung  Hob  : 

Harsh  and  fierce  of  word,  rough  and  savage  of  deed, 

Hated  or  feared  the  more  —  who  knows  ?  —  the  gen- 
uine wild-beast  breed. 

Thus  were  they  found  by  the  few  sparse  folk  of  the 
country-side  ; 


FI ALBERT  AXD  HOB.  295 

But  how  fared  each  with  other  ?     E'en  beasts  couch, 

hide  by  hide, 
In  a  growling,  grudged  agreement :  so,  father  and  son 

lay  curled 
The  closelier  up  in  their  den  because  the  last  of  their 

kind  in  the  world. 

Still,  beast  irks  beast  on  occasion.     One   Christinas 

night  of  snow. 
Came  father  and  son  to  words  —  such  words  !  more 

cruel  because  the  blow 
To  crown  each  word  was  wanting,  while  taunt  matched 

gibe,  and  curse 
Competed  with  oath  in  wager,  like  pastime  in  hell,  — 

nay,  worse  : 
For  pastime  turned  to  earnest,  as  up  there  sprang  at 

last 
The  son  at  the  throat  of  the  father,  seized  him  and 

held  him  fast. 

"  Out  of  this  house  you  go  !  "  —  (there  followed  a 
hideous  oath)  — 

"  This  oven  where  now  we  bake,  too  hot  to  hold  us 
both ! 

If  there  's  snow  outside,  there  's  coolness :  out  with 
you,  bide  a  spell 

In  the  drift  and  save  the  sexton  the  charge  of  a  par- 
ish shell !  " 


296  HALBERT  AND  HOB. 

Now,  the  old  trunk  was  tough,  was  solid  as  stump  of 

oak 
Untouched  at  the  core  by  a  thousand  years  :   much 

less  had  its  seventy  broke 
One  whipcord  nerve  in  the  muscly  mass  from  neck  to 

shoulder-blade 
Of   the  mountainous    man,  whereon  his   child's  rash 

hand  like  a  feather  weighed. 

Nevertheless  at  once  did  the  mammoth  shut  his  eyes, 
Drop  chin  to  breast,  drop  hands  to  sides,  stand  stif- 
fened —  arms  and  thighs 
All  of  a  piece  —  struck  mute,  much  as  a  sentry  stands, 
Patient  to  take  the  enemy's  fire  :  his  captain  so  com- 
mands. 

Whereat  the  son's  wrath  flew  to  fury  at  such  sheer 
scorn 

Of  his  puny  strength  by  the  giant  eld  thus  acting  the 
babe  new-born  : 

And  "  Neither  will  this  turn  sen^e  ! "  yelled  he. 
"  Out  with  you  !     Trundle,  log  ! 

If  you  cannot  tramp  and  trudge  like  a  man,  try  all- 
fours  like  a  dog  !  " 

Still  the  old  man  stood  mute.  So,  logwise,  —  down  to 
floor 


H ALBERT  AND  HOB.  297 

Pulled  from  his  fireside  place,  dragged  on  from  hearth 

to  door,  — 
Was  he  pushed,  a  very  log,  staircase  along,  until 
A  certain  turn  in  the  steps  was  reached,  a  yard  from 

the  house-door-sill. 

Then  the  father  opened  his  eyes  —  each  spark  of  their 

rage  extinct,  — 
Temples,  late  black,  dead-blanched,  —  right-hand  with 

left-hand  linked,  — 
He  faced  his  son  submissive  ;  when  slow  the  accents 

came, 
They  were  strangely  mild  though  his  son's  rash  hand 

on  his  neck  lay  all  the  same. 

"Halbert,   on    such   a   night   of    a   Christmas    long 

ago, 
For  such  a  cause,  with  such  a  gesture,  did  I  drag  — 

so  — 
My  father  down  thus  far :  but,  softening  here,  I  heard 
A  voice  in  my  heart,  and  stopped  :  you  wait  for  an 

outer  word. 

"  For  your  own  sake,  not  mine,  soften  you  too  !     Un- 

trod 
Leave  this  last  step  we  reach,  nor  brave  the  finger  of 

God! 


298  HALBERT  AND  HOB. 

I  dared  not  pass  its  lifting  :  I  did  well.     I  nor  blame_ 
Nor  praise  you.     I  stopped  here  :     Halbert,  do  you, 
the  same ! " 

Straightway  the  son  relaxed  his  hold  of  the  father's 

throat. 
They  mounted,  side  by  side,  to  the  room  again  :  no 

note 
Took  either  of  each,  no  sign  made  each  to  either  :  last 
As  first,  in  absolute  silence,  their -Christmas-night  they 

passed. 

At  dawn,  the  father  sate  on,  dead,  in  the  self-same 
place. 

With  an  outburst  blackening  still  the  old  bad  fighting- 
face  : 

But  the  son  crouched  all  a-tremble  like  any  lamb  new- 
yeaned. 

When  he  went  to  the  burial,  someone's  staff  he  bor- 
rowed, —  tottered  and  leaned. 

But  his  lips  were  loose,  not  locked,  —  kept  muttering, 
mumbling.     "  There  ! 

At  his  cursing  and  swearing  !  "  the  youngsters  cried  : 
.  but  the  elders  thought  "  In  prayer." 

A  boy  threw  stones  :  he  picked  them  up  and  stored 
them  in  his  vest. 


HALBERT  AND  HOB.  299 

So  tottered,  muttered,  mumbled  he,  till  he  died,  per- 
haps found  rest. 

«'  Is  there  a  reason  in  nature  for  these  hard  hearts  ? " 
O  Lear, 

That  a  reason  out  of  nature  must  turn  them  soft, 
seems  clear ! 


IVAN    IVANOVITCH. 


"  They  tell  me,  your  carpenters,"  quoth  I  to  my  friend 

the  Russ, 
"  Make  a  simple  hatchet  serve  as  a   tool-box  serves 

with  us. 
Arm  but  each  man  with  his  axe,  't  is  a  hammer  and. 

saw  and  plane 
And   chisel,   and  —  what  know  I  else?     We   should 

imitate  in  vain 
The   mastery  wherewithal,  by  a  flourish  of  just  the 

adze, 
He  cleaves,  clamps,  dovetails  in,  —  no   need  of  our 

nails  and  brads, — 
The  manageable  pine  :  't  is  said  he  could  shave  him- 
self 
With  the  axe,  —  so  all  adroit,  now  a  giant  and  now  an 

elf, 
Does  he  work  and  play  at  once  !  " 

Quoth  my  friend  the  Russ  to  me, 


ivAn  ivanovitch.  301 

"Ay,  that  and  more  besides  on  occasion  !  It  scarce 
may  be 

You  never  heard  tell  a  tale  told  children,  time  out  of 
mind, 

By  father  and  mother  and  nurse,  for  a  moral  that  's 
behind, 

Which  children  quickly  seize.  If  the  incident  hap- 
pened at  all. 

We  place  it  in  Peter's  time  when  hearts  were  great 
not  small, 

Germanized,  Frenchified.     I  wager  't  is  old  to  you 

As  the  story  of  Adam  and  Eve,  and  possibly  quite  as 
true." 


In  the  deep  of  our  land,  't  is  said,  a  village  from  out 

the  woods 
Emerged  on  the  great  main-road  'twixt  two  great  soli- 
•*  tudes. 

Through  forestry  right  and  left,  black  verst  and  verst 

of  pine. 
From  village  to  village  runs  the  road's  long  wide  bare 

line. 
Clearance  and  clearance  break  the  else-unconquered 

growth 
Of  pine  and  all  that  breeds  and  broods  there,  leaving 

loth 
Man's   inch  of  masterdom,  —  spot   of  life,    spirt   of 

fire, — 


302  IVAN  IVANOVITCH. 

To  star  the  dark  and  dread,  lest  right  and  rule  expire 
Throughout  the  monstrous  wild  a-hungered  to  resume 
Its  ancient  sway,  suck  back  the  world  into  its  womb  : 
Defrauded  by  man's  craft  which  clove  from  North  to 

South 
This  highway  broad  and  straight  e'en  from  the  Neva's 

mouth 
To  Moscow's  gates  of  gold.     So,  spot  of  life  and  spirt 
Of  fire  aforesaid,  burn,  each  village  death-begirt 
By  wall   and  wall   of    pine  —  unprobed   undreamed 

abyss. 

Early  one  winter  morn,  in  such  a  village  as  this, 
Snow-whitened  everywhere  except  the  middle  road 
Ice-roughed  by  track  of  sledge,  there  worked  by  his 

abode 
Iv^n  Ivanovitch,  the  carpenter,  employed 
On  a  huge  shipmast  trunk  ;  his  axe  now  trimmed  and 

toyed 
With  branch  and  twig,  and  now  some  chop  athwart 

the  bole 
Changed  bole  to  billets,  bared  at  once  the  sap  and 

soul. 
About  him,  watched   the  work   his  neighbors  sheep- 
skin-clad ; 
Each   bearded   mouth   puffed   steam,  each   gray  eye 
twinkled  glad 


IVAN  IVANOVITCH.  303 

To  see  the  sturdy  arm  which,  never  stopping  play, 
Proved  strong  man's  blood  still  boils,  freeze  winter  as 
he  may. 

Sudden,  a  burst  of  bells.     Out  of  the  road,  on  edge 

Of  the  hamlet  —  horse's  hoofs  galloping.  "  How,  a 
sledge  ? 

What 's  here  ?  "  cried  all  as  —  in,  up  to  the  open 
space, 

Workyard  and  market-ground,  folks'  common  meet- 
ing-place, — 

Stumbled  on,  till  he  fell,  in  one  last  bound  for  life, 

A  horse  :  and,  at  his  heels,  a  sledge  held  —  "  Dmitri's 
wife  ! 

Back  without  Dmitri  too  !  and  children  —  where  are 
they  ? 

Only  a  frozen  corpse  !  " 

They  drew  it  forth  :  then  —  "  Nay, 
Not  dead,  though  like  to  die  !     Gone  hence  a  month 

ago: 
Home  again,  this  rough  jaunt  —  alone  through  night 

and  snow  — 
What  can  the  cause  be  ?     Hark  —  Droug,  old  horse, 

how  he  groans  : 
His  day  's  done  !     Chafe  away,  keep  chafing,  for  she 

moans  : 


304  IV An  ivAivovitch: 

She  's  coming  to  !     Give  here  :  see,  motherkin,  your 

friends  ! 
Cheer  up,  all  safe   at   home  !     Warm    inside   makes 

amends 
For  outside   cold,  —  sup   quick  !     Don't  look   as  we 

were  bears  ! 
What   is  it   startles   you  ?     What   strange   adventure 

stares 
Up  at  us  in  your  face  ?    You  know  friends  —  which  is 

which  ? 
I  'm  Vassili,  he 's  Sergei,  Ivkn  Ivanovitch  "... 

At  the  word,  the  woman's   eyes,  slow-wandering  till 

they  neared 
The  blue  eyes  o'er  the  bush  of  honey-colored  beard. 
Took  in  full  light  and  sense  and  —  torn  to  rags,  some 

dream 
Which  hid  the  naked   truth  —  O  loud  and  long  the 

scream 
She  gave,  as  if  all  power  of  voice  within  her  throat 
Poured  itself  wild  away  to  waste  in  one  dread  note  ! 
Then  followed  gasps  and  sobs,  and  then  the  steady 

flow 
Of  kindly  tears  :  the  brain  was  saved,  a  man  might 

know. 
Down  fell  her  face  upon  the  good  friend's  propping 

knee ; 


ivAn'  ivAnovitch.  305 

His  broad  hands  smoothed  her  head,  as  fain  to  brush 

it  free 
From  fancies,  swarms  that  stung  Uke  bees  unhived. 

He  soothed  — 
"  Loukeria,  Loiischa  !  " —  still  he,  fondling,  smoothed 

and  smoothed. 
At  last  her  lips  formed  speech. 

"  Ivan,  dear  —  you  indeed  ! 
You,  just  the  same  dear  you  !     ^^'hile  I  .  .  .  O  inter- 
cede. 
Sweet  Mother,  with  thy  Son  Almighty  —  let  his  might 
!Bring  yesterday  once  more^  undo  all  done  last  night ! 
But  this  time  yesterday,  Ivan,  I  sat  like  you, 
A  child  on  either  knee,  and,  dearer  than  the  two, 
A  babe  inside  m)-  arms,  close  to  my  heart  —  that 's 

lost 
In  morsels  o'er  the  snow !     Father,  Son,  Holy  Ghost, 
Cannot  you  bring  again  my  blessed  yesterday  ?  " 


When  no  more  tears  w'ould  flow,  she  told  her  tale  : 

this  wa3^ 
"  Maybe,  a  month  ago,  —  was  it  not  ?  —  news  came 

here, 
They  wanted,  deeper  down,  good  workmen  fit  to  rear 
A  church  and   roof  it  in.     '  We  '11  go,'  my  husband 

said  : 


306  IP'A.Y  IVANOVnCH. 

'  None  understands  like  me  to  melt  and  mould  their 

lead.' 
So,  friends  here  helped  us  off  —  Ivan,  dear,  you  the 

first ! 
How  gay  we  jingled  forth,  all  five  —  (my  heart  will 

burst)  — 
While  Dmitri  shook  the  reins,  urged  Droug  upon  his 

track  ! 

"  Well,  soon  the  month  ran  out,  we  just  were  coming 

back. 
When  yesterday — behold,  the  village  was  on  fire  ! 
Fire  ran  from  house  to  house.     What  help,  as,  nigh 

and  nigher, 
The   flames   came   furious  ?     '  Haste,'   cried    Dmitri, 

'  men  must  do 
The  little  good  man  may :  to  sledge  and  in  with  you, 
You  and  our  three  !     We  check  the  fire  by  laying  flat 
Each  building  in  its   path,  —  I  needs   must  stay  for 

that,  — 
But   you  ...  no   time   for  talk  !     Wrap   round   you 

every  rug. 
Cover   the  couple    close,  —  you  '11  have   the  babe  to 

hug. 
No  care  to  guide  old  Droug,  he  knows  his  wa}-,  by 

guess, 
Once  start  him  on  the  road  :  but  chirrup,  none  the 

less ! 


IV An  ivanovitch.  307 

The  snow  lies  glib  as  glass  and  hard  as  steel,  and 

soon 
You  '11  have  rise,  fine  and  full,  a  marvel  of  a  moon. 
Hold  straight  up,  all  the  same,  this  lighted  twist  of 

pitch  ! 
Once  home  and  with  our  friend  Ivan  Ivanovitch, 
All 's  safe  :  I  have  my  pay  in  pouch,  all 's  right  with 

me. 
So  I  but  find  as  safe  you  and  our  precious  three  ! 
Off,  Droug  ! '  —  because  the  flames  had  reached  us, 

and  the  men 
Shouted  '  But  lend  a  hand,  Dmitri  —  as  good  as  ten  1 ' 

"  So,  in   we   bundled  —  I,  and  those  God   gave   me 

once  ; 
Old  Droug,  that 's  stiff  at  first,  seemed  youtliful  for 

the  nonce  : 
He  understood  the  case,  galloping  straight  a-head. 
Out  came  the  moon  :  my  twist  soon  dwindled,  feebly 

red 
In  that  unnatural  day  —  yes,  dajdight,  bred  between 
Moon-light  and  snow-light,  lamped  those  grotto-dejDths 

which  screen 
Such  devils  from  God's  eye.     Ah,  pines,  how  straight 

you  grow 
Nor  bend  one  pitying  branch,  true  breed  of  brutal 

snow ! 


3o8  IV An  ivanovitch. 

Some  undergrowth  had  served  to  keep  the  devils  blind 
While  one  escaped  outside  their  border  ! 

"Was  that  —  wind  ? 
I     Anyhow,  Droug  starts,  stops,  back   go  his  ears,  he 
snuffs. 
Snorts,  —  never  such  a  snort !   then  plunges,  knows 

the  sough  's 
Only  the  wind  :  yet,  no  —  our   breath   goes   up  too 

straight ! 
Still  the  low  sound,  — less  low,  loud,  louder,  at  a  rate 
There  's  no  mistaking  more  !     Shall  I  lean  out  —  look 

—  learn 
The   truth  whatever   it   be?     Pad,  pad!     At  last,   I 
turn  — 

" '  T  is  the  regular  pad  of  the  wolves  in   pursuit  of 

the  life  in  the  sledge  ! 
An  army  they  are  :  close-packed  they  press  like  the 

thrust  of  a  wedge  : 
They  increase  as  they  hunt :  for  I  see,  through  the 

pine-trunks  ranged  each  side, 
Slip  forth  new  fiend  and  fiend,  make  wider  and  still 

more  wide 
The   four-footed   steady   advance.     The    foremost  — 

none  may  pass  : 
They  are  elders  and  lead  the  line,  eye  and  eye  — 

green-glowing  brass  ! 


irAx  ivAnovitch.  309 

But  a  long  way  distant  still.     Droug,  save  us!     He 

does  his  best : 
Yet   they  gain    on   us,    gain,  till    they   reach,  —  one 

reaches  .  .  .  How  utter  the  rest  ? 
O  that  Satan-faced  first  of  the  band  !     How  he  lolls 

out  the  length  of  his  tongue, 
How  he  laughs  and  lets  gleam  his  white  teeth  !     He 

is  on  me,  his  paws  pry  among 
The  wraps  and  the  rugs  !    O  my  pair,  my  twin-pigeons, 

lie  still  and  seem  dead ! 
Stepan,  he  shall  never  have  you  for  a  meal,  —  here  's 

your  mother  instead  ! 
No,  he  will  not  be  counselled  —  must  cry,  poor  Sti- 

bpka,  so  foolish  !  though  first 
Of  my  boy-brood,  he  was  not  the  best :  nay,  neigh- 
bors have  called  him  the  worst : 
He  was  puny,  an  undersized  slip,  —  a  darling  to  me, 

all  the  same  ! 
But  little  there  was  to  be  praised  in  the  boy,  and  a 

plenty  to  blame. 
I  loved  him  with  heart  and  soul,  yes  —  but,  deal  him 

a  blow  for  a  fault, 
He  would  sulk  for  whole  days.    '  Foolish  boy  !  lie  still 

or  the  villain  will  vault. 
Will  snatch  you  from  over  my  head  ! '     No  use  !  he 

cries,  screams,  —  who  can  hold 
Fast  a  boy  in  a  frenzy  of  fear  ?    It  follows  — as  I  fore- 
told ! 


3 1  o  IV An  iva no  vitch. 

The  Satan-face  snatched  and  snapped  :    I  tugged,   I 

tore  —  and  then 
His  brother  too  needs  must  shriek  !     If  one  must  go, 

't  is  men 
The  Tsar  needs,  so  we  hear,  not  aih'ng  boys  !     Per- 
haps 
My  hands   relaxed   their   grasp,   got   tangled    in  the 

wraps : 
God,  he  was   gone  !      I   looked :  there   tumbled  the 

cursed  crew. 
Each  fighting  for  a  share  :  too  busy  to  pursue  ! 
That 's  so  far  gain  at  least :    Droug,  gallop   another 

verst 
Or  two,  or  three  —  God  sends  we   beat  them,  arrive 

the  first  ! 
A  mother  who  boasts  two  boys  was  ever  accounted 

rich  : 
Some  have  not  a  boy :  some  have,  but  lose  him,  — 

God  knows  which 
Is  worse  :  how  pitiful  to  see  your  weakling  pine 
And  pale  and  pass  away  !     Strong  brats,  this  pair  of 

mine  ! 

"  O  misery !  for  while  I  settle  to  what  near  seems 
Content,  I  am  'ware  again  of  the  tramp,  and  again 

there  gleams  — 
Point  and  point —  the  line,  eyes,  levelled  green  brassy 

fire! 


IVAN  IVAXOVITCH.  311 

So  soon  is  resumed  your  chase  ?     Will  nothing  ap- 
pease, nought  tire 

The  furies  ?     And  yet  I  think  —  I  am  certain  the  race 
is  slack, 

And  the  numbers  are  nothing  like.     Not  a  quarter  of 
the  pack  ! 

Feasters  and  those  full-fed  are  staying   behind  .  .  . 
Ah  why  ? 

We  '11  sorrow  for  that  too  soon  !    Now,  —  gallop,  reach 
home,  and  die, 

Nor  ever  again  leave  house,  to  trust  our  life  in  the 
trap 

For  life  —  we  call  a  sledge  !     Teribscha,  in  my  lap  ! 

Yes,  I  '11  lie  down  upon  you,  tight-tie  you  with   the 
strings 

Here  —  of  my  heart !    No  fear,  this  time,  3-our  mother 
flings  .  .  . 

Flings  ?     I  flung  ?     Never  !     But  think  !  —  a  woman, 
after  all. 

Contending  with  a  wolf!     Save  you  I  must  and  shall, 

Terentii ! 

"  How  now  ?     What,  you  still  head  the  race, 

Your  eyes  and  tongue  and  teeth  crave  fresh  food,  Sa- 
tan-face ? 

There    and  there  !     Plain    I    struck   green   fire    out ! 
Flash  again  ? 

All  a  poor  fist  can  do  to  damage  eyes  proves  vain  ! 


3 1 4  ifJat  ivA  no  vitch. 

When,  wretches,  you  danced  round  —  not  this,  thank 

God  —  not  this  ! 
Hellhounds,  we  baulk  you  ! ' 

"■  But  —  Ah,  God  above  !  —  Bliss,  bliss  — 
Not  the  band,  no  !     And  yet  —  yes,  for  Droug  knows 

him  !     One  — 
Of  them  all,  only  this  has  said  '  She  saves  a  son  ! ' 
His  fellows  disbelieve  such  luck  :  but  he  believes, 
He  lets  them  pick  the  bones,  laugh  at  him  in  their 

sleeve-s  : 
He 's  off  and  after  us,  —  one  speck,  one  spot,  one  ball 
Grows  bigger,  bound  on  bound,  —  one  wolf  as  good 

as  all ! 

0  but  I  know  the  trick  !     Have  at  the  snaky  tongue  ! 
That 's   the   right   way  with   wolves  !     Go,  tell   your 

mates  I  wrung 
The  panting  morsel  out,  left  you  to  howl  your  worst  I 
Now  for  it  —  now!     Ah  me!     I  know  him  —  thrice- 
accurst 
Satan-face,  —  him  to  the  end  my  foe  ! 

"  All  fight 's  in  vain  : 
This  time  the  green  brass  points  pierce  to  my  very 
brain, 

1  fall  —  fall  as  I  ought  —  quite  on  the  babe  I  guard  : 
I  overspread  with  flesh  the  whole  of  him.     Too  hard 


/F/i.v  IVAXO viTcri.  3 1 5 

To  die  this  way,  torn  piecemeal  ?    Move  hence  ?    Not 

I  —  one  inch  ! 
Gnaw  through  me,  through  and  through  :  flat  thus  I 

lie  nor  flinch  ! 

0  God,  the  feel  of  the  fang  furrowing  my  shoulder  ! 

—  see  ! 
It  grinds  —  it  grates  the  bone.     O  Kirill  under  me, 
Could  I  do  more  ?    Besides  he  knew  wolf's-way  to  win : 

1  clung,  closed  round  like  wax :  yet  in  he  w-edged  and 

in, 
Past  my  neck,  past  my  breasts,  my  heart,  until  .  .  . 

how  feels 
The  onion-bulb  your  knife  parts,  pushing  through  its 

peels. 
Till  out  you  scoop  its  clove  wherein  lie  stalk  and  leaf 
And  bloom  and  seed  unborn  ? 

"  That  slew  me  :  yes,  in  brief, 
I  died  then,  dead  I  lay  doubtlessly  till  Droug  stopped 
Here,  I  suppose.     I  come  to  life,  I  find  me  propped 
Thus  —  how  or  when   or  why,  —  I  know  not.     Tell 

me,  friends, 
All  was  a  dream  :  laugh  quick  and  say  the  nightmare 

ends  ! 
Soon  I  shall  find  my  house  :  't  is  over  there  :  in  proof. 
Save  for  that  chimney  heaped  with  snow,  you  'd  see 

the  roof 
Which  holds  my  three  —  my  two  —  my  one  —  not  one,'' 


3 1 4  ivAn  ivAno  vitch. 

When,  wretches,  you  danced  round  —  not  this,  thank 

God  —  not  this  ! 
Hellhounds,  we  baulk  you  ! ' 

"  But  —  Ah,  God  above  !  —  Bliss,  bliss  — 
Not  the  band,  no  !     And  yet  —  yes,  for  Droug  knows 

him  !     One  — 
Of  them  all,  only  this  has  said  '  She  saves  a  son  ! ' 
His  fellows  disbelieve  such  luck  :  but  he  believes, 
He  lets  them  pick  the  bones,  laugh  at  him  in  their 

sleeve-s  : 
He  's  off  and  after  us,  —  one  speck,  one  spot,  one  ball 
Grows  bigger,  bound  on  bound,  —  one  wolf  as  good 

as  all ! 

0  but  I  know  the  trick  !     Have  at  the  snaky  tongue  ! 
That 's   the   right   way  with   wolves  !     Go,  tell   your 

mates  I  wrung 
The  panting  morsel  out,  left  you  to  howl  your  worst  1 
Now  for  it  —  now  !     Ah  me  !     I  know  him  —  thrice- 
accurst 
Satan-face,  —  him  to  the  end  my  foe  ! 

"  All  fight 's  in  vain  : 
This  time  the  green  brass  points  pierce  to  my  very 
brain, 

1  fall  —  fall  as  I  ought  —  quite  on  the  babe  I  guard  : 
I  overspread  with  flesh  the  whole  of  him.     Too  hard 


IVAX  IVAXOVITCH.  315 

To  die  this  way,  torn  piecemeal  ?    Move  hence  ?    Not 

I  —  one  inch  ! 
Gnaw  through  me,  through  and  through  :  flat  thus  I 

He  nor  flinch  ! 

0  God,  the  feel  of  the  fang  furrowing  my  shoulder  ! 

—  see  ! 
It  grinds  —  it  grates  the  bone.     O  Kirill  under  me, 
Could  I  do  more  ?    Besides  he  knew  wolf's-way  to  win : 

1  clung,  closed  round  like  wax :  yet  in  he  %Yedged  and 

in, 
Past  my  neck,  past  my  breasts,  my  heart,  until  .  .  . 

how  feels 
The  onion-bulb  your  knife  parts,  pushing  through  its 

peels, 
Till  out  you  scoop  its  clove  wherein  lie  stalk  and  leaf 
And  bloom  and  seed  unborn  ? 

"  That  slew  me  :  yes,  in  brief, 
I  died  then,  dead  I  lay  doubtlessly  till  Droug  stopped 
Here,  I  suppose.     I  come  to  life,  I  find  me  propped 
Thus  —  how  or  when   or  why,  —  I  know  not.     Tell 

me,  friends, 
All  was  a  dream  :  laugh  quick  and  say  the  nightmare 

ends  ! 
Soon  I  shall  find  my  house  :  't  is  over  there  :  in  proof, 
Save  for  that  chimney  heaped  with  snow,  you  'd  see 

the  roof 
Which  holds  my  three  —  my  two — my  one  —  not  one? 


3l6  IVAN  IVANOVITCH. 

"  Life  's  mixed 
With  misery,  yet  we    live  —  must   live.     The    Satan 

fixed 
His  face  on  mine  so  fast,  I  took  its  print  as  pitch 
Takes  what  it  cools  beneath.     Ivan  Ivknovitch, 
'T  is  you  unharden  me,  you  thaw,  disperse  the  thing  ! 
Only  keep  looking  kind,  the  horror  will  not  cling. 
Your  face  smooths   fast   away  each    print  of   Satan. 

Tears 
—  What   good   they  do  !     Life  's   sweet,  and    all   its 

after-years, 
Ivkn  Ivanovitch,  I  owe  you  !     Yours  am  I  ! 
May  God  reward  you,  dear  !  " 

Down  she  sank.     Solemnly 
Ivkn  rose,  raised  his  axe,  —  for  fitly,  as  she  knelt, 
Her  head  lay  :  well-apart,  each  side,  her  arms  hung,  — 

dealt 
Lightning-swift  thunder-strong  one  blow  —  no  need  of 

more  ! 
Headless  she  knelt  on  still :  that  pine  was  sound  at 

core 
(Neighbors  were  used  to  say)  —  cast-iron-kerneled  — 

which 
Taxed  for  a  second  stroke  Ivan  Ivanovitch. 

The  man  was  scant  of  words  as  strokes.     "  It  had  to 
be: 


IV An  IV a  no  vitch.  3 1 7 

I  could  no  other :  God  it  was  bade  *  Act  for  me  ! '  " 
Then  stooping,  peering  round  —  what  is   it  now  he 

lacks  ? 
A  proper  strip  of  bark  wherewith  to  wipe  his  axe. 
Which  done,  he  turns,  goes  in,  closes  the  door  behind. 
The  others  mute   remain,  watching   the   blood-snake 

wind 
Into  a  hiding-place  among  the  splinter-heaps. 

At   length,   still   mute,   all   move  :    one    lifts,  —  from 

where  it  steeps 
Redder  each   ruddy   rag  of   pine,  —  the  head  :   two 

more 
Take  up  the  dripping  body  :  then,  mute  still  as  before. 
Move   in   a  sort  of  march,   march  on  till   marching 

ends 
Opposite  to  the  church  j  where   halting,  —  who   sus- 
pends. 
By  its  long  hair,  the  thing,  deposits  in  its  place 
The  piteous  head  :  once  more  the  body  shows  no  trace 
Of  harm  done  :  there  lies  whole  the  Louscha,  maid 

and  wife 
And  mother,  loved  until  this  latest  of  her  life. 
Then  all  sit  on  the  bank  of  snow  which  bounds  a 

space 
Kept  free  before  the   porch  for  judgment :   just  the 

place  ! 


3  1 8  rVA  N  IVA  NO  VITCH. 

Presently  all  the   souls,  man,   woman,   child,  which 

make 
The  village  up,  are  found  assembling  for  the  sake 
Of  what  is  to  be  done.     The  ver}-  Jews  are  tliere  : 
A  Gipsy-troop,  though  bound  with  horses  for  the  Fair, 
Squats  with  the  rest.     Each  heart  with  its  conception 

seethes 
And  simmers,  but  no  tongue  speaks  :  one  may  say, — 

none  breathes. 

Anon   from  out   the  church   totters   the  Pope  —  the 

priest  — 
Hardly  alive,  so  old,  a  hundred  years  at  least. 
With  him,  the  Commune's  head,  a  hoan,-  senior  too, 
Starosta,  that  's   his  style,  —  like   Equity  Judge  with 

you,  — 
Natural  Jurisconsult  :  then,  fenced  about  with  furs, 
Pomeschik,  —  Lord  of  the  Land,  who  wields  —  and 

none  demurs  — 
A  power  of  life  and  death.     They  stoop,  sur\-ey  the 

corpse. 

Then,  straightened  on   his  staff,  the    Starosta  —  the 

thorpe's 
Sagaciousest   old   man  —  hears  what  you   just   have 

heard. 
From  Droug's  first  inrush,  all,  up  to  Ivkn's  last  word 
**  God  bade  me  act  for  him  :  I  dared  not  disobey  !  " 


ivAn  IVANOVITCH.  319 

Silence  —  the  Pomeschik  broke  with  "A  wild  wrong 

way 
Of  righting  wrong  —  if  wrong  there  were,  such  wrath 

to  rouse  ! 
Why  was  not  law  obsen-ed  ?     What  article  allows 
Whoso  may  please  to  play  the  judge,  and,  judgment 

dealt, 
Play  executioner,  as  promptly  as  we  pelt 
To  death,  without  appeal,  the  vermin  whose  sole  fault 
Has  been  —  it  dared  to  leave  the  darkness  of  its  vault. 
Intrude  upon  our  day  !     Too  sudden  and  too  rash  ! 
What  was  this  woman's  crime  ?     Suppose  the  church 

should  crash 
Down  where  I  stand,  your  lord  :  bound  are  my  serfs 

to  dare 
Their  utmost  that  I  'scape  :  yet,  if  the  crashing  scare 
My  children,  —  as  you  are,  —  if  sons  fly,  one  and  all, 
Leave  father  to  his  fate,  —  poor  cowards  though  I  call 
The  runaways,  I  pause  before  I  claim  their  life 
Because  they  prized  it  more  than  mine.    I  would  each 

wife 
Died  for  her  husband's  sake,  each  son  to  save   his 

sire  : 
'T  is  glor}',  I  applaud  —  scarce  duty,  I  require. 
Ivan  Ivanovitch  has  done  a  deed  that 's  named 
Murder  by  law  and  me  :   who  doubts,  may  speak  un- 

blamed  !  " 


320  IVAn  IVAiVOFITCff. 

All  turned  to  the  old  Pope.      "Ay,  children,  I   am 

old  — 
How  old,  I  get  myself  to  know  no  longer.     Rolled 
Quite  round,  my  orb  of  life,  from  infancy  to  age. 
Seems  passing  back  again  to  youth.     A  certain  stage 
At  least  I  reach,  or  dream  I  reach,  where  I  discern 
Truer  truths,  laws  behold  more  lawlike  than  we  learn 
When  first  we  set  our  foot  to  tread  the  course  I  trod 
^^'ith  man  to  guide  my  steps  :  who  leads  me  now  is 

God. 
'Your  young  men  shall  see  visions  : '  and  in  my  youth 

I  saw 
And  paid  obedience  to  man's  visionary  law : 
'  Your  old  men  shall  dream  dreams  : '  and,  in  my  age, 

a  hand 
Conducts  me  through  the  cloud  round  law  to  where  I 

stand 
Firm  on  its  base,  —  know  cause,  who,  before,  knew 

effect. 

"  The  world  lies  under  me  :  and  nowhere  I  detect 
So  great  a  gift  as  this  —  God's  own  —  of  human  life. 
'  Shall  the  dead  praise  thee  ? '    No  !     '  The  whole  live 

world  is  rife, 
God,  with  thy  glory,'  rather  !     Life  then,  God's  best 

of  gifts. 
For  what  shall  man  exchange  ?     For  life  —  when  so 

he  shifts 


I  VAN  ivAno  VITCH.  3  2  I 

The  weight  and  turns  the  scale,  lets  life  for  life  re- 
store 
God's  balance,  sacrifice  the  less  to  gain  the  more, 
Substitute  —  for  low  life,  another's  or  his  own  — 
Life  large  and  liker  God's  who  gave  it :  thus  alone 
May  life  extinguish  life  that  life  may  trulier  be  ! 
How  low  this  law  descends  on  earth,  is  not  for  me 
To  trace  :  complexed  becomes  the  simple,  intricate 
The  plain,  when  I  pursue  law's  winding.     'T  is  the 

straight 
Outflow  of  law  I  know  and  name  :  to  law,  the  fount 
Fresh  from  God's  footstool,  friends,  follow  while  I  re- 
mount. 

"  A  mother  bears  a  child  :  perfection  is  complete 
So  far  in  such  a  birth.     Enabled  to  repeat 
The  miracle  of  life,  —  herself  was  born  so  just 
A  type  of  womankind,  that  God  sees  fit  to  trust 
Her  with  the  holy  task  of  giving  life  in  turn. 
Crowned   by   this   crowning    pride,  —  how   say   you, 

should  she  spurn 
Regality —  discrowned,  unchilded,  by  her  choice 
Of  barrenness  exchanged  for  fruit  which  made  rejoice 
Creation,  though  life's  self  were  lost  in  giving  birth 
To  life  more  fresh  and  fit  to  glorify  God's  earth  ? 
How  say  you,  should  the  hand  God  trusted  with  life's 

torch 

21 


322  IVAN  IVANOVITCH. 

Kindled  to  light  the  world  —  aware  of   sparks   that 

scorch, 
Let  fall  the   same  ?     Forsooth,  her  flesh  a  fire-flake 

stings  : 
The  mother  drops  the  child  !    Among  what  monstrous 

things 
Shall  she  be  classed  ?     Because  of  motherhood,  each 

male 
Yields  to  his  partner  place,  sinks  proudly  in  the  scale  : 
His  strength  owned  weakness,  wit  —  folly,  and  cour- 
age —  fear. 
Beside  the  female  proved  male's  mistress  —  only  here. 
The  fox-dam,  hunger-pined,  will  slay  the  felon  sire 
Who  dares  assault  her  whelp  :  the  beaver,  stretched 

on  fire, 
Will  die  without  a  groan  :  no  pang  avails  to  wrest 
Her  young  from   where   they  hide  —  her   sanctuary 

breast. 
What 's  here  then  ?     Answer  me,  thou  dead  one,  as,  I 

trow, 
Standing  at  God's  own  bar,  he  bids  thee  answer  now ! 
Thrice  crowned  wast  thou  —  each  crown  of  pride,  a 

child  —  thy  charge  ! 
Where  are  they  ?    Lost  ?    Enough  :  no  need  that  thou 

enlarge 
On  how  or  why  the  loss  :  life  left  to  utter  '  lost ' 
Condemns  itself  beyond  appeal.     The  soldier's  post 


ivAn  ivAnovitch.  323 

Guards  from  the  foe's  attack  the  camp  he  sentinels  : 
That  he  no  traitor  proved,  this  and  this  only  tells  — 
Over  the  corpse  of  him  trod  foe  to  foe's  success. 
Yet  —  one  by  one  thy  crowns  torn  from  thee  —  thou 

no  less 
To  scare  the  world,  shame  God,  —  livedst !     I  hold 

he  saw 
The  miexampled  sin,  ordained  the  novel  law, 
Whereof  first  instrument  was  first  intelligence 
Found  loyal  here.     I  hold  that,  failing  human  sense, 
The  very  earth  had  oped,  sky  fallen,  to  efface 
Humanity's  new  wrong,  motherhood's  first  disgrace. 
Earth  oped  not  neither  fell  the  sky,  for  prompt  was 

found 
A  man  and  man  enough,  head-sober  and  heart-sound. 
Ready  to  hear  God's  voice,  resolute  to  obey. 
Ivan  Ivanovitch,  I  hold,  has  done,  this  day, 
No  otherwise  than  did,  in  ages  long  ago, 
Moses  when  he  made  known  the  purport  of  that  flow 
Of  fire  athwart  the  law's  twain-tables  !     I  proclaim 
Iv^n  Ivanovitch  God's  servant !  "        * 

At  which  name 
Uprose  that   creepy  whisper  from  out  the   crowd,  \? 

wont 
To  swell  and  surge  and  sink  when  fellow-men  con 

front 
A  punishment  that  falls  on  fellow  flesh  and  blood. 


324  ivAn  ivanovitch. 

Appallingly  beheld  —  shudderingly  understood, 
No  less,  to  be  the  right,  the  just,  the  merciful. 
"  God's  servant !  "  hissed  the  crowd. 

When  that  Amen  grew  dull 
And  died  away  and  left  acquittal  plain  adjudged, 
"  Amen  !  "  last  sighed  the  lord.    "  There  's  none  shall 

say  I  grudged 
Escape  from  punishment  in  such  a  novel  case. 
Deferring  to  old  age  and  holy  life,  —  be  grace 
Granted  !    say  I.     No    less,  scruples   might   shake  a 

sense 
Firmer  than  I  boast  mine.     Law  's  law,  and  evidence 
Of  breach  therein  lies  plain,  —  blood-red-bright,  —  all 

may  see  ! 
Yet  all  absolve  the  deed  :  absolved  the  deed  must  be  ! 

"  And  next  —  as  mercy  rules   the   hour  —  methinks 

^     'twere  well 
You  signify  forthwith  its  sentence,  and  dispel 
The  doubts  and  fears,  I  judge,  which  busy  now  the 

head 
Law  puts  a  halter  round  —  a  halo  —  you,  instead  ! 
Ivkn  Ivanovitch  —  what  think  you  he  expects 
Will  follow  from  his  feat  ?    Go,  tell  him  —  law  protects 
Murder,  for  once  :  no  need  he  longer  keep  behind 
The  Sacred  Pictures  —  where   skulks  Innocence  en- 
shrined, 


ivAn  ivAnovitch.  325 

Or  I  missay  !    Go,  some  !    You  others,  haste  and  hide 
The  dismal  object  there  :  get  done,  whate'er  betide  ! " 

So,  while  the  youngers  raised  the  corpse,  the  elders 
trooped 

Silently  to  the  house  :  where  halting,  someone  stooped, 

Listened  beside  the  door ;  all  there  was  silent  too. 

Then  they  held  counsel ;  then  pushed  door  and,  pass- 
ing through. 
Stood  in  the  murderer's  presence. 

Ivan  Ivanovitch 

Knelt,  building  on  the  floor  that   Kremlin  rare  and 
rich 

He  deftly  cut  and  carved  on  lazy  winter  nights. 

Some  five   young  faces  watched,  breathlessly,  as,  to 
rights, 

Piece  upon  piece,  he  reared  the  fabric  nigh  complete. 

Stescha,  Ivan's  old  mother,  sat  spinning  by  the  heat 

Of  the  oven  where  his  wife  Katia  stood  baking  bread. 

Ivan's  self,  as  he  turned  his  honey-colored  head, 

Was   just  in  act  to    drop,  'twixt   fir-cones,  —  each  a 
dome,  — 

The  scooped-out  yellow  gourd  presumably  the  home 

Of  Kolokol  the  Big  :  the  bell,  therein  to  hitch, 

—  An  acorn-cup  —  was  ready  :  Ivan  Ivanovitch 

Turned  with  it  in  his  mouth. 

They  told  him  he  was  free 

As  air  to  walk  abroad.    "  How  otherwise  ?  "  asked  he. 


TRAY. 


Sing  me  a  hero  !     Quench  my  thirst 
Of  soul,  ye  bards  ! 

Quoth  Bard  the  first : 
*'  Sir  Olaf,  the  good  knight,  did  don 
His  helm  and  eke  his  habergeon  "... 
Sir  Olaf  and  his  bard ! 

"That  sin-scathed  brow"  (quoth  Bard  the  second) 
"  That  eye  wide  ope  as  though  Fate  beckoned 

My  hero  to  some  steep,  beneath 

Which  precipice  smiled  tempting  Death  "... 

You  too  without  your  host  have  reckoned  ! 

"  A  beggar-child  "  (let 's  hear  this  third  !) 

*'  Sat  on  a  quay's  edge  :  like  a  bird 
Sang  to  herself  at  careless  play, 
And  fell  into  the  stream.     '  Dismay  ! 
Help,  you  the  standers-by  ! '     None  stirred. 


TRAV.  327 

"  Bystanders  reason,  think  of  wives 
And  children  ere  they  risk  dieir  lives. 
Over  the  balustrade  has  bounced 
A  nr^re  instinctive  dog,  and  pounced 
Plumb  on  the  prize.     '  How  well  he  dives ! 

*' '  Up  he  comes  with  the  child,  see,  tight 
In  mouth,  alive  too,  clutched  from  quite 
A  depth  of  ten  feet  —  twelve,  I  bet ! 
Good  dog  !     What,  off  again  ?     There  's  yet 
Another  child  to  save  ?     All  right ! 

"  '  How  strange  we  saw  no  other  fall ! 
It 's  instinct  in  the  animal. 
Good  dog  !     But  he  's  a  long  while  under : 
If  he  got  drowned  I  should  not  wonder  — 
Strong  current,  that  against  the  wall ! 

"  '  Here  he  comes,  holds  in  mouth  this  time 
—  What  may  the  thing  be  ?     Well,  that 's  prime  ! 
Now,  did  you  ever?     Reason  reigns 
In  man  alone,  since  all  Tray's  pains 
Have  fished  —  the  child's  doll  from  the  slime  ! ' 

"  And  so,  amid  the  laughter  gay, 
Trotted  my  hero  off,  —  old  Tray,  — 
Till  somebody,  prerogatived 


328  TRAY, 

With  reason,  reasoned  :  *  Why  he  dived, 
His  brain  would  show  us,  I  should  say. 

"  'John,  go  and  catch  —  or,  if  needs  be, 
Purchase  that  animal  for  me  ! 
By  vivisection,  at  expense 
Of  half-an-hour  and  eighteen  pence. 
How  brain  secretes  dog's  soul,  we  'II  see  ! '  " 


NED   BRATTS. 


'T  WAS  Bedford  Special  Assize,  one  daft  Midsummer's 

Day: 
A  broiling  blasting  June,  —  was  never  its  like,  men 

say. 
Corn  stood  sheaf-ripe  already,  and  trees  looked  yellow 

as  that ; 
Ponds  drained  dust-dry,  the  cattle  lay  foaming  around 

each  flat. 
Inside  town,  dogs  went  mad,  and  folks  kept  bibbing 

beer 
While  the  parsons  prayed  for  rain.     'T  was  horrible, 

yes  —  but  queer  : 
Queer  —  for  the  sun  laughed  gay,  yet  nobody  moved 

a  hand 
To  work  one  stroke  at  his  trade  :  as  given  to  under. 

stand 
That  all  was  come  to  a  stop,  work  and  such  worldly 

ways. 
And  the  world's  old  self   about   to  end  in  a  merry 

blaze. 


330  NED  BRATTS. 

Midsummer's  Day  moreover  was  the  first  of  Bedford 

Fair; 
So,  Bedford  Town's  tag-rag  and  bobtail  lay  bowsing 

there. 

But  the  Court  House,  Quality  crammed  :  through  doors 

ope,  windows  wide, 
High  on  the  Bench  you  saw  sit   Lordships  side  by 

side. 
There   frowned    Chief  Justice  Jukes,  fumed    learned 

Brother  Small, 
And  fretted  their  fellow  Judge  :  like  threshers,   one 

and  all. 
Of  a   reek  with   laying  down  the   law  in  a  furnace. 

Why  ? 
Because    their   lungs    breathed   flame  —  the    regular 

crowd  forbye  — 
From  gentry  pouring  in  —  quite  a  nosegay,  to  be  sure  ! 
How  else  could  they  pass  the  time,  six  mortal  hours 

endure 
Till  night  should  extinguish  day,  when  matters  might 

haply  mend  ? 
Meanwhile  no  bad  resource  was  —  watching  begin  and 

end 
Some  trial  for  life  and  death,  in  a  brisk  five  minutes' 

space, 
And  betting  which  knave  would  'scape,  which  hang, 

from  his  sort  of  face. 


NED  BRATTS.  33  I 

So,  their  Lordships  toiled  and  moiled,  and  a  deal  of 

work  was  done 
(I  warrant)  to  justify  the  mirth  of  the  crazy  sun, 
As  this  and  't  other  lout,  struck  dumb  at  the  sudden 

show 
Of  red  robes  and  white  wigs,  boggled  nor  answered 

"  Boh ! " 
When  asked  why  he,  Tom  Styles,  should  not  —  be- 
cause Jack  Nokes 
Had  stolen  the  horse  —  be  hanged  :  for  Judges  must 

have  their  jokes, 
And  louts  must  make  allowance  —  let 's  say,  for  some 

blue  fly 
Which  punctured  a  dewy  scalp  where  the  frizzles  stuck 

awry  — 
Else  Tom  had  fleered  scot-free,  so   nearly  over  and 

done 
Was  the  main  of  the  job.     Full-measure,  the  gentles 

enjoyed  their  fun, 
As  a  twenty-five  were  tried,  rank  puritans  caught  at 

prayer 
In  a  cow-house  and  laid  by  the  heels,  —  have  at  'em, 

devil  may  care  !  — 
And  ten  were  prescribed  the  whip,  and  ten  a  brand 

on  the  cheek. 
And  five  a  slit  of  the  nose  —  just  leaving  enough  to 

tweak. 


332  NED  BRATTS. 

Well,  things  at  jolly  high-tide,  amusement  steeped  in 

fire, 
While  noon  smote  fierce  the  roof's  red  tiles  to  heart's 

desire, 
The  Court  a-simmer  with  smoke,  one  ferment  of  oozy 

flesh, 
One  spirituous  humming  musk  mount-mounting  until 

its  mesh 
Entoiled  all  heads  in  a  fluster,  and  Serjeant  Postle- 

thwayte 

—  Dashing   the  wig  oblique  as  he  mopped   his  oily 

pate  — 
Cried  "  Silence,  or  I  grow  grease  !     No  loophole  lets 

in  air  ? 
Jurj-men,  —  Guilt}-,    Death  !      Gainsay   me    if    you 

dare  !  " 

—  Things  at  this  pitch,  I  say,  —  what  hubbub  without 

the  doors  ? 
What  laughs,  shrieks,  hoots  and  yells,  what  rudest  of 
uproars  ? 

Bounce  through  the  barrier-throng  a  bulk  comes  roll- 
ing vast ! 

Thumps,  kicks,  —  no  manner  of  use  !  —  spite  of  them 
rolls  at  last 

Into  the  midst  a  ball  which,  bursting,  brings  to  view 

Publican  Black  Ned  Bratts  aud  Tabby  his  big  wife 
too  : 


NED  BRATTS.  333 

Both   in    a   muck-sweat,  both  .  .  .  were   never   such 

eyes  uplift 
At  the  sight  of  yawning  hell,  such  nostrils  —  snouts 

that  sniffed 
Sulphur,  such  mouths  a-gape  ready  to  swallow  flame  ! 
Horrified,  hideous,  frank  fiend-faces  !  3'et,  all  the  same, 
Mixed  with  a  certain  ...  eh  ?  how  shall  I  dare  style 

—  mirth 
The  desperate  grin  of  the  guess  that,  could  they  break 

from  earth. 
Heaven  was  above,  and  hell  might  rage  in  impotence 
_Below  the  saved,  the  saved  ! 

"  Confound  you  !  (no  offence  !) 
Out  of  our  way,  —  push,  wife  !     Yonder  their  ^^'or- 

ships  be  !  " 
Ned   Bratts   has    reached   the   bar,    and   "  Hey,    my 

Lords,"  roars  he, 
"  A  Jury  of  life  and  death,  Judges  the  prime  of  the 

land. 
Constables,  javelineers,  —  all  met,  if  I  understand. 
To  decide  so  knotty  a  point  as  whether  't  was  Jack  or 

Joan 
Robbed  the  henroost,  pinched  the  pig,  hit  the  King's 

Arms  with  a  stone, 
Dropped  the  baby  down  the  well,  left  the  tithesman 

in  the  lurch, 


334  ^'^^  BRATTS. 

Or,  threewhole_Sundays  running,  not  once  attended 

church ! 
What  a  pother  —  do  these  deserve  the  parish-stocks 

or  whip, 
More  or  less  brow  to  brand,  much  or  Uttle  nose    to 

snip, — 
When,  in   our    Public,    plain    stand   we  —  that 's    we 

stand  here, 
I    and  my  Tab,  brass-bold,  brick-built   of   beef   and 

beer, 

—  Do    not   we,    slut  ?     Stand   forth    and    show  your 

beaut}',  jade  ! 
Wife  of  my  bosom  —  that's  the  word  now!     What  a 

trade 
We  drove  !     None  said  us  nay :  nobody  loved  his  life 
_So  little  as  wag  a  tongue  against  us,  —  did  they,  wife  ? 
Yet  they  knew  us  all  the  while,  in  their  hearts,  for 

what  we  are 

—  Worst  couple,  rogue  and  quean,  unhanged  —  search 

near  and  far ! 
Eh,    Tab  ?      The    pedlar,    now  —  o'er   his   noggin  — 

who  warned  a  mate 
To  cut  and  run,  nor  risk  his  pack  where  its  loss  of 

weight 
Was  the  least  to  dread,  —  aha,  how  we  two  laughed 

a-good 
As,  stealinground^the  midden,  he  came  on  where  I 
"^        stood 


NED  BRATTS.  335 

With  billet  poised  and  raised,  —  you^  ready  with  the 

^'OP^K — 

Ah,  but  that 's  past,  that 's  sin  repented  of,  we  hope  ! 
Men  knew  us  for  that  same,  yet  safe  and  sound  stood 

we  ! 
The   lily-livered   knaves   knew  too  (I  've   baulked   a 

d ) 

Our  keeping  the  '  Pied  Eull^_was  just  a  mere   pre- 
tence : 
Too  slow  make  food,  drink,  lodging,  the  pounds  from 

out  the  pence ! 
There  's  not  a  stoppage  has  chanced  to  travel,  this  ten 

long  year. 
No  break  into  hall  or  grange,  no  lifting  of  nag  or 

steer. 
Not  a  single  roguery,  from  the  cutting  of  a  purse 
To  the  cutting  of  a  throat,  but  paid  us  toll.     Od's 

curse  ! 
When  Gipsy  Smouch  made  bold  to  cheat  us  of  our 

due, 
—  Eh,  Tab  ?  the  Squire's  strong-box  we   helped  the 

rascal  to  — 
I  think  he  pulled  a  face,  next  Sessions'  swinging-time  ! 
He  danced  the  jig  that  needs  no  floor,  —  and,  here  's 

the  prime, 
'T  was  Scroggs  that  houghed  the  mare  !     Ay,  those 

were  busy  days ! 


336  NED  BRATTS. 

''  Well,  there  weflourished  brave,  like  scripture-trees 

called  bays. 
Faring  high,  drinking  hard,  in  money  up  to  head 
—  Not  to  say,  boots  and  shoes,  when  .  .  .  Zounds,  I 

nearly  said  — 
Lord,  to  unlearn  one's  language  !     How  shall  we  la- 
bor, wife  ? 
Have  you,  fast  hold,  the  Book  ?     Grasp,  grip  it,  for 

your  life  ! 
See,  sirs,  here's  life,  salvation!     Here's — hold  but 

out  my  breath  — 
When  did  I  speak   so  long  without  once   swearing  ? 

'Sdeath, 
No,  nor  unhelped  by  ale  since  man  and  boy !     And 

yet 
All  yesterday  I  had  to  keep  my  whistle  wet 
While  reading  Tab  this  Book  :  book  ?  don't  say  '  book' 

—  they  're  plays, 
Songs,  ballads  and  the  like  :  here  's  no  such  strawy 

blaze. 
But  sky  wide  ope,  sun,  moon,  and  seven  stars  out  full- 
flare  ! 
Tab,  help  and  tell  !     I  'm  hoarse.     A  mug  !  or  —  no, 

a  prayer ! 
Dip  for  one  out  of  the  Book  !     Who  wrote  it  in  the 

Jail 
—  He  plied  his__Ben_unhelped  by  beer,  sirs,  I  '11  be 

bail ! 


NED  BRATTS.  337 

"  I  've  got  my  second  wind.     In  trundles  she  —  that 's 

Tab. 
'  V^'hy,  Gammer,   what  's  come  now,   that  —  bobbing 

hke  a  crab 
On  Yule-tide  bowl  —  your  head  's   a-work    and  both 

your  eyes 
Break  loose  ?     Afeard,  you  fool  ?     As  if  the  dead  can 

rise  ! 
Say  —  Bagman  Dick  was  found  last  May  with  fud- 

dling-cap 
Stuffed  in  his  mouth  :  to  choke  's  a  natural  mishap  ! ' 
'Gaffer,  be  —  blessed,'  cries  she,  'and  Bagman  Dick 

as  well  ! 
I,  you,  and  he  are  damned  :  this  Public  is  our  hell  : 
We  live  in  fire  :  live  coals  don't  feel  !  —  once  quenched, 

they  learn  — 
Cinders  do,  to  what  dust    they  moulder  while    they 

burn ! ' 

"'If  you  don't  speak  straight  out,'  says  I — belike  I 

swore  — 
'  A  knobstick,  well  you  know  the  taste  of,  shall,  once 

more, 
Teach  yoxx  to  talk,  my  maid  !  '     She  ups  with  such  a 

face, 
Heart    sunk    inside    me.     '  Well,   pad   on,  my   prate 

apace  ! ' 

22 


338  NED  BRATTS. 

"  '  I  've  been  about  those  laces  we  need  for  .  ,  .  never 

mind  ! 
If  henceforth  they  tie  hands,  't  is  mine  they  '11  have  to 

bind. 
You  know  who  makes  them  best  —  the  Tinker  in  our 

cage, 
Pulled-up  for  gospelling,  twelve  years  ago  :  no  age 
To  \xy  another  trade,  —  yet,  so  he  scorned  to  take 
Money  he  did  not  earn,  he  taught  himself  the  make 
Of   laces,  tagged  and   tough  —  Dick   Bagman  found 

them  so  ! 
Good  customers  were  we  !     Well,  last  week,  you  must 

know, 
His  girl,  —  the  blind  young  chit,  who  hawks  about  his 

wares,  — 
She  takes  it  in  her  head  to  come  no  more  —  such  airs 
These  hussies  have !     Yet,  since  we  need  a  stoutish 

lace, — 
"  I  '11  to  the  jail-bird  father,  abuse  her  to  his  face  !  " 
So,  first  I  filled  a  jug  to  give  me  heart,  and  then, 
Primed  to  the  proper  pitch,  I  posted  to  their  den  — 
Patmore  —  they  style  their  prison  !    I  tip  the  turnkey, 

catch 
My  heart  up,  fix  my  face,  and  fearless  lift  the  latch  — 
Both  arms  a  kimbo,  in  bounce  with  a  good  round  oath 
Ready  for  rapping  out :    no    "  Lawks  "  nor  "  By  my 

troth  ! " 


NED  BRATTS.  339 

"'There  sat   my  man,  the   father.     He  looked  up: 

what  one  feels 
When  heart  that  leapt  to  mouth  drops  down  again  to 

heels  ! 
He  raised  his  hand  .  .  .  Hast  seen,  when  drinking 

out  the  night, 
And  in,  the  day,  earth  grow  another  something  quite 
Under  the  sun's  first  stare  ?     I  stood  a  very  stone. 

"  '  "  Woman  !  "  (a  fiery  tear  he  put  in  every  tone), 

"  How  should  my  child  frequent  your  house  where  lust 
is  sport. 

Violence  —  trade  ?  Too  true  !  I  trust  no  vague  re- 
port. 

Her  angel's  hand,  which  stops  the  sight  of  sin,  leaves 
clear 

The  other  gate  of  sense,  lets  outrage  through  the  ear. 

What  has  she  heard  !  — which,  heard  shall  never  be 
again. 

Better  lack  food  than  feast,  a  Dives  in  the  —  wain 

Or  reign  or  train —  of  Charles  I  "     (His  language  was 

^notjjursj 

'T  is  my  belief,  Godsgoke  :  no  tinker  has  such  pow- 
ers). 

"  Bread,  only  bread  they  bring  —  my  laces  :  if  we 
broke 

Your  lump  of  leavened  sin,  the  loaf's  first  crumb  would 
choke  ! " 


340  NED  BRATTS. 

"  '  Down  on  my  marrow-bones  !      Then  all  at  once 

rose  he  : 
His  brown  hair  burst  a-spread,  his  eyes  were  suns  to 
""''         see : 
Up  went  his  hands  :  "  Throiighflesh,  I  reach,  I  read 

thy  soul  ! 
So  may  some  stricken  tree  look  blasted,  bough  and 

bole, 
Champed  by  the  fire-tooth,  charred  without,  and  yet, 

thrice-bound 
With  dreriment  about,  ^vi_d2]n_mayjife  be  found, 
A  prisoned  power  to  branch  and  blossom  as  before, 
Could  but  the  gardener  cleave  the  cloister,  reach  the 

core. 
Loosen  the  vital  sap  :  yet  where  shall  help  be  found  ? 
Who  says  '  How  save  it  ? '  —  nor  '  Why  cumbers  it  the 

ground  ? ' 
WoJ33anj_that_tree  art  thou  !     All  sloughed  about  with 

scurf, 
Thy  stag-horns  fright  the  sky,  thy  snake-roots  sting 

the  turf  ! 
Drunkenness,  wantonness,  theft,    murder   gnash  and 

gnarl 
Thine   outward,  case  thy  soul  with  coating  like  the 

marie 
Satan  stamps  flat  upon  each  head  beneath  his  hoof ! 
And  how  deliver  such  ?     The  strong  men  keep  aloof. 


NED  BRATTS. 


341 


Lover  and  friend  stand  far,  the  mocking  ones  pass  by, 
Tophet  gapes  wide  for  prey :   lost  soul,  despair  and 

What  then  ?     *  Look  unto  me  and  be  ye  saved  ! '  saith 
'  ^d:     *" 

*  I  strike  the  rock,  outstreats  the  life-stream  at  my 
rod  !  ^ 

Be  your  sins  scarlet,  wool  shall  they  seem  like, — al- 
though 

As  crimson  red,  yet  turn  white  as  the  driven  snow  ! '  " 

"  '  There,  there,  there  !  All  I  seem  to  somehow  un- 
derstand 

Is  —  that,  if  I  reached  home,  't  was  through  the  guid- 
ing hand 

Of  his  blind  girl  which  led  and  led  me  through  the 
s-treets 

And  out  of  town  and  up  to  door  again.    What  greets 

First  thing  my  eye,  as  limbs  recover  from  their 
swoon  ? 

A  book  —  this  Book  she  gave  at  parting.  "  Father's 
boon  — 

The  Book  he  wrote  :  it  reads  as  if  he  spoke  himself  : 

1  They  did  not  eat 
His  flesh,  nor  suck  those  c'V?  which  thence  outstreat. 

Donne's  Progress  of  the  Soul,  line  344. 


342  NED  BRATTS. 

I   He  cannot  preach  in  bonds,  so,  —  take  it  down  from 
shelf 
J    When  you  want  counsel,  —  think   you  hear  his  very 
voice  !  " 

*' '  Wicked  clear  Husband,  first  despair  and  then  re- 
joice ! 
Dear  wicked  Husband,  waste  no  tick  of  moment  more, 
Be  saved  like  me,  bald  trunk !    There  's  greenness  yet 

at  core, 
Sap  under  slough  !     Read,  read  ! ' 

"  Let  me  take  breath,  my  lords  ! 
1  'd  like  to  knovVj^are  these  —  hers,  mine,  or  Bunyan's 

words  ?  ~^ 

I  'm    'wildered  —  scarce   with    drink,  —  nowise   with 

drink  alone  ! 
You  '11  say,  with  heat :  but  heat 's  no  stuff  to  split  a 

stone 
Like  this  black   boulder — this  flint  heart  of  mine: 

the  Book  — 
That  dealt  the  crashing  blow !     Sirs,  here  's  the  fist 

that  shook 
His  beard  till  Wrestler  Jem  howled  like  a  just-lugged 

bear! 
You  had  brained  me  with  a  feather :  at  once  I  grew 

aware 
Christmas  was  meant  for  me.    A  burden  at  your  back. 


NED  BRAT  IS.  343 

Good  Master  Christmas  ?  Nay,  —  yours  was  that 
Joseph's  sack. 

—  Or  whose  it  was,  —  which  held  the  cup,  —  com- 
pared with  mine  ! 

Robbery  loads  my  loins,  perjury  cracks  my  chine, 

Adultery  ,  .  .  nay,  Tab,  you  pitched  me  as  I  flung  ! 

One  word,  I  '11  up  with  fist  .  .  .  No,  sweet  spouse, 
hold  your  tongue  ! 

"  I  'm  hasting  to  the  end.    The  Book,  sirs  —  take  and 

read  ! 
You  have  my  history  in  a  nutshell,  —  ay,  indeed  ! 
It  must  off,  my  burden  !    See,  —  slack  straps  and  into 

pit. 
Roll,  reach  the  bottom,  rest,  rot  there  —  a  plague  on 

it! 
For  a  mountain  's  sure  to  fall  and  bury  Bedford  Town, 
'  Destruction  '  —  that 's  the  name,  and  fire  shall  burn 

it  down  ! 
O  'scape  the  wrath  in  time  !     Time  's  now,  if  not  too 

late. 
How^  can  I  pilgrimage  up  to  the  wicket-gate  ? 
Next  comes  Despond  the  slough  :  not  that  I  fear  to 

pull 
Through  mud,  and  dry  my  clothes  at  brave    House 

Beautiful  — 
But  it 's  late  in  the  day,  I  reckon  :  had  I  left  years 

asfo 


344 


NED  BRATTS. 


Town,  wife,  and  children  dear  .  .  .  Well,  Christmas 

did,  you  know  !  — 
Soon  I  had  met  in  the  valley  and  tried  my  cudgel's 

strength 
On  the  enemy  horned  and  winged,  a-straddle  across 

its  length  ! 
Have  at  his  horns,  thwick  —  thwack  :  they  snap,  see  ! 

Hoof  and  hoof  — 
Bang,  break  the  fetlock-bones  !     For  love's  sake,  keep 

aloof.  ^ 
Angels  !     I  'm  man  and  match,  — ^his  cudgel  for  my. 

To_thresh  him,  hoofs  and  horns,  bat's  wing  and  ser- 
pent's tail  ! 

A  chance  gone  by !  But  then,  what  else  does  Hope- 
ful ding 

Into  the  deafest  ear  except  —  hope,  hope's_the  thing? 

Too  late  i'  the  day  for  me  to  thrid  the  windings  :  but 

There  's  still  a  way  to  win  the  race  by  death's  short 
cut! 

Did  Master  Faithful  need  climb  the  Delightful 
Mounts  ? 

No,  straight  to  Vanity  Fair,  —  a  fair,  by  all  accounts, 

Such    as  is  held   outside, —  lords,  ladies,  grand   and 

g^iy>  — 

Says  he  in  the  face  of  them,  just  what  you  hear  me 
say.    I 


y  fleAj^jt^xy^^cM? 


NED  BRATTS.  345 

And  the  Judges  brought  him  in  guilty,  and  brought 

him  out 
To   die   in   the   market-place  —  St.    Peter's   Green 's 

about 
The  same  thing  :  there  they  flogged,  flayed,  buffeted, 

lanced  with  knives. 
Pricked  him  with   swords,  —  I  '11   swear,  he  'd  full  a 

cat's  nine  lives,  — 
So  to  his  end  at  last  came  Faithful,  —  ha,  ha,  he  ! 
Who  holds  the  highest  card  ?  for  there  stands  hid,  you 

see, 
Behind  the  rabble-rout,  a  chariot,  pair  and  all  : 
He  's  in,  he 's  off,  he  's  up,  through  clouds,  at  trumpet- 


call. 

Carried  the  nearest  way  to  Heaven-gate  !  Odds  my 
life  — 

Has  nobody  a  sword  to  spare  ?  not  even  a  knife  ? 

Then  hang  me,  draw  and  quarter  !  Tab  —  do  the 
same  by  her ! 

O  Master  Worldly-Wiseman  .  .  .  That 's  Master  In- 
terpreter, 

Take  the  will,  not  the  deed  !  Our  gibbet 's  handy, 
close  : 

Forestall  Last  Judgment-Day  !  Be  kindly,  not  mo- 
rose 1 

There  wants  no  earthly  judge-and-jurying :  here  we 
stand  — 


346  NED  BRATTS. 

Sentence  our  guilty  selves  :  so,  hang  us  out  of  hand  ! 
"Makejiaste  for  pity's  sake  !  .A  single  moment's  loss 
Means  —  Satan  's  lord  once  more  :  his  whisper  shoots 

across  _ 
All  singing  in  my  heart,  all  praying  in  mj  braini__^ 
'  It  comes  of  heat  and  beer  !  '  —  hark  how  he  guffaws 


plain  ! 

*  To-morrow  you  '11  wake  bright,  and,  in  a  safe  skin, 

Vnnr  gnnnH  gjplvpg,  Tah  and  you,  ovcr  a  foaming  jug  ! 

You  've  had  such  qualms  ^efor^  time  out  of  mind  ! ' 
He  's  right  ! 

Did  not  we  kick  and  cuff  and  curse  away,  that  night 

When  home  we  blindly  reeled,  and  left  poor  hump- 
back Joe 

I'  the  lurch  to  pay  for  what  .  ,  .  somebody  did,  you 
know  ! 

Both  of  us  maundered  then  '  Lame  humpback,  — 
never  more 

Will  he  come  limping,  drain  his  tankard  at  our  door  ! 

He  '11  swing,  while  —  somebody '  .  .  .  Says  Tab,  *  No, 
for  I  '11  peach  ! ' 

*  I  'm  for  you.  Tab,'  cries  I,  '  there  's  rope  enough  for 

each  ! ' 
So  blubbered  we,  and  bussed,  and  went  to  bed  upon 
The  grace  of  Tab's  good  thought :  by  morning,  all 

was  gone  ! 


NED  BRATTS  347 

We  laughed  —  '  What 's  life  to  him,  a  cripple  of  no 

account  ? ' 
Oh,  waves  increase  around  —  I  feel  them  mount  and 

mount  ! 
Hang  us  !     To-morrow  brings  Tom  Bearward  with  his 

bears  : 
One   new  black-muzzled   brute   beats    Sackerson,  he 

swears  : 
(Sackerson,  for  my  money  !)     And,  baiting  o'er,  the 

Brawl 
They  lead  on  Turner's  Patch,  —  lads,  lasses,  up  tails 

all, — 
I  'm  i'  the  thick  o'  the  throng  !     That  means  the  Iron 

Cage, 
—  Means  the  Lost  Man  inside  !     Where  's  hope  for 

such  as  wage 
War  against  light  ?     Light 's  left,  light 's  here,  I  hold 

light  still. 
So  does  Tab  —  make  but  haste  to  hang  us  both  !    You 

will?" 

I  promise,  when  he  stopped  you  might  have  heard  a 

mouse 
Squeak,   such  a  death-like   hush   sealed   up  the  old 

Mote  House. 
But  when  the  mass  of  man  sank  meek  upon  his  knees. 
While  Tab,  alongside,  wheezed  a  hoarse  "  Do  hang 

us,  please ! " 


348  NED  BRATTS. 

Why,  then  the  waters  rose,  no  eye  but  ran  with  tears, 
Hearts  heaved,  heads  thumped,  until,  paying  all  past 

arrears 
Of  pity  and  sorrow,  at  last  a  regular  scream  outbroke 
Of  triumph,  joy  and  praise. 

My  Lord  Chief  Justice  spoke, 
First  mopping  brow  and  cheek,  where  still,  for  one 

that  budged, 
Another  bead  broke  fresh  :  "  What  Judge,  that  ever 

judged 
Since  first  the  world  began,  judged  such  a  case  as 

this  ? 
Why,  Master  Bratts,  long  since,  folks  smelt  you  out,  I 

wis  ! 
I  had  my  doubts,  i'  faith,  each  time  you  played  the  fox 
Convicting  geese  of  crime  in  yonder  witness-box  — 
Yea,  much  did  I  misdoubt,  the  thief   that  stole  her 

eggs 
Was  hardly  goosey's  self  at  Reynard's  game,  i'  feggs ! 
Yet  thus  much  was  to  praise  —  you  spoke  to  point, 

direct  — 
Swore  you  heard,  saw  the  theft :  no  jury  could  sus- 
pect — 
Dared   to  suspect,  —  I  '11  say,  —  a   spot  in  white  so 

clear  : 
Goosey  was  throttled,  true  :  but  thereof  godly  fear 
Came  of  example  set,  much  as  our  laws  intend ; 


NED  BRATTS.  349 

And,  though  a  fox  confessed,  3-011  proved  the  Judge's 

friend. 
What  if   I   had   my  doubts  ?     Suppose  I  gave  them 

breath, 
Brought  you  to  bar :  what  work  to  do,  ere  *  Guilty, 

Death ' 
Had  paid  our  pains !     What  heaps  of  witnesses  to 

drag 
From  holes  and  corners,  paid  from  out  the  County's 

bag! 
Trial  three  dog-days  long  !     Amicus  Cttrice  —  that 's 
Your  title,  no  dispute  —  truth-telling  Master  Bratts  ! 
Thank  you,  too.  Mistress  Tab  !     Why  doubt  one  word 

you  say  ? 
Hanging  you  both  deser\-e,  hanged  both  shall  be  this 

day  ! 
The  tinker  needs  must  be  a  proper  man.     I  've  heard 
He  lies  in  Jail  long  since  :  if  Quality's  good  word 
Warrants   me   letting   loose, — some   householder,    I 

mean  — 
Freeholder,  better  still,  —  I  don't  say  but  —  between 
Now  and  next  Sessions  .  .  .  Well !     Consider  of  his 

case, 
I  promise  to,  at  least :  we  owe  him  so  much  grace. 
Not  that  —  no,  God  forbid  !  —  I  lean  to  think,  as  you, 
The  grace  that  such  repent  is  any  jail-bird's  due  : 
I  rather  see  the  fruit  of  twelve  years'  pious  reign  — 


350  NED  BRATTS. 

Astraea  Redux,  Charles  restored  his  rights  again  ! 
—  Of  which,  another  time  !     I  somehow  feel  a  peace 
Stealing  across   the  world.     May  deeds  like  this  in- 
crease ! 
So,  Master  Sheriff,  stay  that  sentence  I  pronounced 
On  those  two  dozen  odd  :  deserving  to  be  trounced 
Soundly,  and  yet,  —  well,  well,  at  all  events  despatch 
This  pair  of  —  shall    I    say,  sinner-saints  ?  —  ere  we 

catch 
Their  jail-distemper  too.     Stop  tears,  or  I  '11  indite 
All  weeping  Bedfordshire  for  turning  Bunyanite  !  " 
So,  happily  hanged  were  they,  —  why  lengthen  out  m)' 

tale  ?  — 
Where  Bunyan's  Statue  stands  facing  where  stood  his 
Jail. 


DRAMATIC   IDYLS. 

SECOND   SERIES. 


"  You  are  sick,  that 's  sure  "  —  they  say  : 
"  Sick  of  what  ?  "  —  they  disagree. 

"  'T  is  the  brain  "  —  thinks  Doctor  A., 
"  'T  is  the  heart  "  —  holds  Doctor  B., 

"  The  liver  —  my  life  I  'd  lay  !  " 
"The  lungs!"     "The  lights!" 

Ah  me  ! 

So  ignorant  of  man's  whole 
Of  bodily  organs  plain  to  see  — 
So  sage  and  certain,  frank  and  free, 
About  what 's  under  lock  and  key  — 

Man's  soul ! 


23 


ECHETLOS. 


Here  is  a  storj"-,  shall  stir  you  !  Stand  up,  Greeks 
dead  and  gone, 

Who  breasted,  beat  Barbarians,  stemmed  Persia  roll- 
ing on, 

Did  the  deed  and  saved  the  world,  since  the  day  was 
Marathon  ! 

No  man  but  did  his  manliest,  kept  rank  and  fought 

away 
In  his  tribe  and  file  :  up,  back,  out,  down — was  the 

spear-ami  play : 
Like  a  wind-whipt  branchy  wood,  all    spear-arms    a- 

swing  that  day  ! 


But  one  man  kept  no  rank  and  his  sole  arm  plied  no 

spear, 
As  a  flashing  came  and  went,  and  a  form  i'  the  van, 

the  rear. 
Brightened  the  battle   up,  for  he  blazed   now  there, 

now  here. 


356  ECHETLOS. 

Nor  helmed  nor  shielded,  he  !  but,  a  goat-skin  all  his 

wear. 
Like  a  tiller  of  the  soil,  with  a  clown's  limbs  broad 

and  bare, 
Went   he   ploughing  on  and  on  :    he   pushed  with  a 

ploughman's  share. 

Did  the  weak  mid-line  give  way,  as  tunnies  on  whom 
the  shark 

Precipitates  his  bulk  ?  Did  the  right-wing  halt  when, 
stark 

On  his  heap  of  slain  lay  stretched  Kallimachos  Pole- 
march  ? 

Did  the  steady  phalanx  falter?     To  the  rescue,  at 

the  need. 
The  clown  was  ploughing  Persia,  clearing  Greek  earth 

of  weed, 
As  he  routed  through  the  Sakian  and  rooted  up  the 

Mede. 

But  the  deed  done,  battle  won,  —  nowhere  to  be  de- 
scribed 

On  the  meadow,  by  the  stream,  at  the  marsh,  —  look 
far  and  wide 

From  the  foot  of  the  mountain,  no,  to  the  last  blood- 
plashed  sea-side,  — 


ECHETLOS.  357 

Not  anywhere  on  view  blazed  the  large  limbs  thonged 

and  brown, 
Shearing   and    clearing   still   with   the    share   before 

which  —  down 
To  the  dust  went  Persia's  pomp,  as  he  ploughed  for 

Greece,  that  clown  ! 

How  spake  the  Oracle  ?     "  Care  for  no  name  at  all ! 
Say  but  just  this  :  We  praise  one  helpful  whom  we  call 
The   Holder  of   the    Ploughshare.     The   great   deed 
ne'er  grows  small." 

Not  the  great  name  !     Sing  —  woe  for  the  great  name 

Miltiade's 
And  its  end  at  Paros  isle  !     Woe  for  Themistokles 
—  Satrap  in  Sardis  court !     Name  not  the  clown  like 

these  1 


CLIVE. 


I  AND  Clive  were  friends  —  and  why  not  ?     Friends ! 

I  think  you  laugh,  my  lad, 
Clive  it  was  gave  England  India,  while  your  father 

gives  —  egad, 
England  nothing  but  the  graceless  boy  who  lures  him 

on  to  speak  — 
"  Well,  Sir,  you  and  Clive  were  comrades  "  —  with  a 

tongue  thrust  in  your  cheek  ! 
Very  true  :  in  my  eyes,  your  eyes,  all  the  world's  eyes, 

Clive  was  man, 
I  was,  am  and  ever  shall  be  —  mouse,  nay,  mouse  of 

all  its  clan 
Sorriest  sample,  if  you  take  the  kitchen's  estimate  for 

fame  ; 
While  the  man  Clive  —  he  fought  Plassy,  spoiled  the 

clever  foreign  game. 
Conquered  and  annexed  and  Englished  ! 

Never  mind  !     As  o'er  my  punch 
(You  away)  I  sit  of  evenings,  —  silence,  save  for  bis- 
cuit crunch. 


CLivE.  359 

Black,  unbroken,  —  thought  grows  busy,  thrids  each 

pathway  of  old  years, 
Notes  this  forthright,  that  meander,  till  the  long-past 

life  appears 
Like  an  outspread  map  of  countr}-  plodded  through, 

each  mile  and  rood, 
Once,  and  well  remembered  still,  —  I  'm  startled  in 

my  solitude 
Ever  and  anon  by  —  what's  the  sudden  mocking  light 

that  breaks 
On  me  as  I  slap  the  table  till  no  rummer-glass  but 

shakes 
While  I  ask  — aloud,  I  do  believe,  God  help  me  !  — 

"  Was  it  thus  ? 
Can  it  be  that  so  I  faltered,  stopped  when  just  one 

step  for  us  "  — 
(Us,  —  you  were  not  born.  I  grant,  but  surely  some 

day  born  would  be) 

—  "  One  bold  step  had  gained  a  province  "  (figurative 

talk,  you  see) 
"  Got  no  end  of  wealth  and  honor,  —  yet  I  stood  stock 
still  no  less  ? " 

—  *'  For  I  was  not  Clive,"  you  comment :  but  it  needs 

no  Clive  to  guess 
Wealth  were  handy,  honor  ticklish,  did  no  writing  on 

the  wall 
Warn  me  '"  Trespasser,  'ware  man-traps  !  "     Him  who 

braves  that  notice  —  call 


360  CLIVE. 

Hero  !   none  of  such  heroics  suit   myself  who  read 

plain  words, 
Doff  my  hat,  and  leap  no  barrier.     Scripture  says,  the 

land  's  the  Lord's  : 
Louts  then  —  what    avail   the    thousand,   noisy   in    a 

smock-frocked  ring, 
All-agog  to  have  me  trespass,  clear  the  fence,  be  Clive 

their  king  ? 
Higher  warrant  must  you  show  me  ere  I  set  one  foot 

before 
T'other  in   that  dark    direction,  though   I  stand  for 

evermore 
Poor  as  Job  and  meek  as  Moses.     Evermore  t     No  ! 

By  and  by 
Job  grows  rich  and  Moses  valiant,  Clive  turns  out  less 

wise  than  I. 
Don't  object  "  Why  call  him  friend,  then  ?  "    Power  is 

power,  my  boy,  and  still 
Marks  a  man,  —  God's   gift   magnific,   exercised  for 

good  or  ill. 
You  've  your  boot  now  on  my  hearth-rug,  tread  what 

was  a  tiger's  skin  : 
Rarely  such  a  royal  monster  as  I  lodged  the  bullet  in  ! 
True,  he  murdered  half  a  village,  so  his  own  death 

came  to  pass  ; 
Still,  for  size  and  beauty,  cunning,  courage  —  ah,  the 

brute  he  was  ! 


CLIVE.  361 

Why,   that  Clive,  —  that  youth,  that  greenhorn,  that 

quill-driving  clerk,  in  fine,  — 
He  sustained  a  siege    in   Arcot  .  .  .  But  the  world 

knows  !     Pass  the  wine. 

Where  did  I  break  off  at  ?    How  bring  Clive  in  ?    Oh, 

you  mentioned  ''  fear  "  ! 
Just  so  :  and,  said  I,  that  minds  me  of  a  story  you 

shall  hear. 

We   were   friends   then,  Clive    and    I  :  so,  when  the 

clouds,  about  the  orb 
Late  supreme,  encroaching  slowly,  surely,  threatened 

to  absorb 
Ray  by  ray  its  noontide  brilliance,  —  friendship  might, 

with  steadier  eye 
Drawing  near,  bear  what  had  burned  else,  now  no 

blaze  all  majesty. 
Too  much  bee's-wing  floats  my  figure  ?    Well,  suppose 

a  castle  's  new  : 
None  presume  to  climb  its  ramparts,  none  find  foot- 
hold sure  for  shoe 
'Twixt  those  squares  and  squares  of  granite  plating 

the  impervious  pile 
As  his  scale-mail's  warty  iron  cuirasses  a  crocodile. 
Reels  that  castle  thunder-smitten,  storm-dismantled  ? 

From  without 


362  CLIVE. 

Scrambling  up  by  crack  and  crevice,  every  cockney 
prates  about 

Towers  —  the  heap  he  kicks  now!  turrets  —  just  the 
measure  of  his  cane  ! 

Will  that  do  ?  Observe  moreover —  (same  similitude 
again)  — 

Such  a  castle  seldom  crumbles  by  sheer  stress  of  can- 
nonade : 

'T  is  when  foes  are  foiled  and  fighting  's  finished  that 
vile  rains  invade, 

Grass  o'ergrows,  o'ergrows  till  night-birds  congregat- 
ing find  no  holes 

Fit  to  build  in  like  the  topmost  sockets  made  for  ban- 
ner-poles. 

So  Clive  crumbled  slow  in  London,  crashed  at  last. 

A  week  before, 

Dining  with  him,  —  after  trying  churchyard-chat  of 
days  of  yore,  — 

Both  of  us  stopped,  tired  as  tombstones,  head-piece 
foot-piece,  when  they  lean 

Each  to  other,  drowsed  in  fog-smoke,  o'er  a  coffined 
Past  between. 

As  I  saw  his  head  sink  heavy,  guessed  the  soul's  ex- 
tinguishment 

By  the  glazing  eyeball,  noticed  how  the  furtive  fingers 
went 


CLIVE.  363 

Where  a  drug-box  skulked  behind  the  honest  liquor, 

—  "  One  more  throw 

Try  for   Clive  !  "   thought   I  :    "  Let  's  venture  some 

good  rattling  question  !  "     So  — 
"  Come  Clive,  tell  us  "  —  out  I   blurted  —  "  what  to 

tell  in  turn,  years  hence. 
When  my  boy — suppose   I  have  one  —  asks  me  on 

what  evidence 
I  maintain  my  friend  of  Plassy  proved  a  warrior  every 

whit 
Worth  your  Alexanders,  Caesars,  Marlboroughs  and  — 

what  said  Pitt  ?  — 
Frederick  the  Fierce  himself  !     Clive  told  me  once  " 

—  I  want  to  say  — • 

"  Which  feat  out  of  all  those  famous  doings  bore  the 

bell  away 
—  In  his  own  calm   estimation,  mark   you,   not   the 

mob's  rough  guess  — 
Which  stood  foremost  as  evincing  what  Clive  called 

courageousness ! 
Come  !  what  moment  of  the  minute,  what  speck-centre 

in  the  wide 
Circle  of  the  action  saw  your  mortal  fairly  deified  ? 
(Let  alone  that    filthy  sleep-stuff,  swallow  bold   this 

wholesome  Port  !) 
If  a  friend  has  leave  to  question,  —  when  were  you 

most  brave,  in  short  ?  " 


364  CLIVE. 

Up  he  arched  his  brows  o'  the  instant  —  formidably 
Clive  again. 

"  When  was  I  most  brave  ?  I  'd  answer,  were  the  in- 
stance half  as  plain 

As  another  instance  that 's  a  brain-lodged  crystal  — 
curse  it !  —  here 

Freezing  when  my  memory  touches  —  ugh  —  the  time 
I  felt  almost  fear. 

Ugh  !  I  cannot  say  for  certain  if  I  showed  fear  — 
anyhow, 

Fear  I  felt,  and,  very  likely,  shuddered,  since  I  shiver 
now." 

*'  Fear !  "  smiled  I.     "  Well,  that 's  the  rarer :  that 's 

a  specimen  to  seek, 
Ticket  up  in  one's  museum,  Mind-Freaks,  Lord  Clivers 

Fear,  Unique!'^ 

Dovvn  his  brows  dropped.  On  the  table  painfully  he 
pored  as  though 

Tracing,  in  the  stains  and  streaks  there,  thoughts  en- 
crusted long  ago. 

When  he  spoke  't  was  like  a  lawyer  reading  word  by 
word  some  will, 

Some  blind  jungle  of  a  statement,  —  beating  on  and 
on  until 

Out  there  leaps  fierce  life  to  fight  with. 


CLIVE.  365 

"  This  fell  in  my  factor-days. 

Desk-drudge,  slaving  at  St.  David's,  one  must  game, 
or  drink,  or  craze. 

I  chose  gaming :  and,  —  because  your  high-flown 
gamesters  hardly  take 

Umbrage  at  a  factor's  elbow  if  the  factor  pays  his 
stake,  — 

I  was  winked  at  in  a  circle  where  the  company  was 
choice, 

Captain  This  and  Major  That,  men  high  of  color,  loud 
of  voice. 

Yet  indulgent,  condescending  to  the  modest  juvenile 

Who  not  merely  risked  but  lost  his  hard-earned  guin- 
eas with  a  smile. 

Down  I  sat  to  cards,  one  evening,  —  had  for  my  an- 
tagonist 

Somebody  whose  name  's  a  secret  —  you  '11  know  why 
—  so,  if  you  list, 

Call  him  Cock  o'  the  Walk,  my  scarlet  son  of  Mars 
from  head  to  heel  ! 

Play  commenced  :  and,  whether  Cocky  fancied  that  a 
clerk  must  feel 

Quite  sufficient  honor  came  of  bending  over  one  green 
baize, 

I  the  scribe  with  him  the  warrior,  guessed  no  penman 
dared  to  raise 

Shadow  of  objection  should  the  honor  stay  but  play- 
ing end 


366  CLiVE. 

More  or  less  abruptly,  — whether  disinclined  he  grew 
to  spend 

Practice  strictly  scientific  on  a  booby  born  to  stare 

At  —  not  ask  of  —  lace-and-ruffles  if   the  hand  they 
hide  plays  fair,  — 

Anyhow,  I  marked  a   movement  when   he  bade   me 
'  Cut ! ' 

"  I  rose. 

'  Such  the  new  manoeuvre.  Captain  ?     I'  m  a  novice  : 
knowledge  grows. 

What,  you  force  a  card,  you  cheat,  Sir  ?  ' 

"  Never  did  a  thunder-clap 

Cause  emotion,  startle  Thyrsis  locked  with  Chloe  in 
his  lap. 

As  my  word  and  gesture  (down  I  flung  my  cards  to 
join  the  pack) 

Fired  the  man  of  arms,  whose  visage,  simply  red  be- 
fore, turned  black. 

When  he  found  his  voice,  he  stammered  '  That  expres- 
sion once  again  ! ' 

"  *  Well,  you  forced  a  card  and  cheated  ! ' 

"  '  Possibly  a  factor's  brain. 
Busied  with  his    all-important   balance    of   accounts, 

may  deem 
Weighing  words  superfluous  trouble  :  cheat  to  clerkly 

ears  may  seem 


CLIVE.  367 

Just  the  joke  for  friends  to  venture  :  but  we  are  not 
friends,  you  see  ! 

When  a  gentleman  is  joked  with,  —  if  he 's  good  at  re- 
partee, 

He  rejoins,  as  I  do  —  Sirrah,  on  your  knees,  withdraw 
in  full  ! 

Beg  my  pardon,  or  be  sure  a  kindly  bullet  through 
your  skull 

Lets  in  light  and  teaches  manners  to  what  brain  it 
finds  !     Choose  quick  — 

Have  your  life  snuffed  out  or,  kneeling,  pray  me  trim 
yon  candle-wick  ! ' 

"  '  Well,  you  cheated  ! ' 

"  Then    outbroke   a   howl   from   all   the   friends 

around. 
To  his  feet  sprang  each  in  fury,  fists  were  clenched 

and  teeth  were  ground. 
*  End  it !    no  time  like  the  present !     Captain,  yours 

were  our  disgrace  ! 
No  delay,  begin  and  finish  !     Stand  back,  leave  the 

pair  a  space  ! 
Let  civilians  be  instructed  :  henceforth  simply  ply  the 

pen. 
Fly  the  sword  !     This  clerk  's  no  swordsman  ?     Suit 

him  with  a  pistol,  then  ! 
Even  odds  !     A  dozen  paces  'twixt  the  most  and  least 

expert 


368  CLiVE. 

Make  a  dwarf  a  giant's  equal :  nay,  the  dwarf,  if  he 's 

alert, 
Likelier  hits  the  broader  target ! ' 

"  Up  we  stood  accordingly. 
As  they  handed  me  the  weapon,  such  was  my  soul's 

thirst  to  try 
Then  and  there  conclusions  with  this  bully,  tread  on 

and  stamp  out 
Every  spark  of  his  existence,  that,  —  crept  close  to, 

curled  about 
By  that  toying  tempting  teazing  fool-forefinger's  mid- 
dle joint,  — 
Don't   you   guess  ?  —  the   trigger  yielded.     Gone  my 

chance  !  and  at  the  point 
Of  such  prime  success  moreover  :  scarce  an  inch  above 

his  head 
Went  my  ball  to  hit  the  wainscot.     He  was  living,  I 

was  dead. 

"  Up  he  marched  in  flaming  triumph  —  'twas  his  right, 
mind!  —  up,  within 

Just  an  arm's  length.  '  Now,  my  clerkling,'  chuckled 
Cocky  with  a  grin 

As  the  levelled  piece  quite  touched  me,  '  Now,  Sir 
Counting-House,  repeat 

That  expression  which  I  told  you  proved  bad  man- 
ners !     Did  I  cheat  ? ' 


CLIVE.  369 

"  '  Cheat  you  did,  you  knew  you  cheated,  and,  this 

moment,  know  as  well. 
As  for  me,  my  homely  breeding  bids  you  —  fire  and 

go  to  Hell  1 ' 

"  Twice  the    muzzle  touched   my  forehead.      Heavy 

barrel,  flurried  wrist. 
Either  spoils  a  steady  lifting.     Thrice:  then,  'Laugh 

at  Hell  who  list, 
I  can't !     God  's  no  fable  either.     Did  this  boy's  eye 

wink  once  ?     No  ! 
There  's  no  standing  him  and  Hell  and  God  all  three 

against  me,  —  so, 
I  did  cheat ! ' 

"And  down  he  threw  the  pistol,  out 

rushed  —  by  the  door 
Possibly,  but,  as  for  knowledge  if  by  chimney,  roof  or 

floor. 
He  effected  disappearance  —  I  '11  engage  no  glance 

was  sent 
That  way  by  a  single  starer,  such  a  blank  astonish- 
ment 
Swallowed  up  the   senses  :   as  for  speaking  —  mute 

they  stood  as  mice. 

"  Mute  not  long,  though  1     Such  reaction,  such  a  hub- 
bub in  a  trice ! 
24 


370  CLIVE. 

'  Rogue  and  rascal !    Who  'd  have  thought  it  ?   What 's 
to  be  expected  next, 

When  His  Majesty's  Commission  serves  a  sharper  as 
pretext 

P'or  .  .  .  But  where  's  the  need  of  wasting  time  now  ? 
Nought  requires  delay  : 

Punishment  the    Service    cries  for :  let   disgrace   be 
wiped  away 

Publicly,  in  good  broad  daylight !    Resignation  ?    No, 
indeed  ! 

Drum  and  fife  must  play  the  Rogue's-March,  rank  and 
file  be  free  to  speed 

Tardy  marching  on  the  rogue's  part  by  appliance  in 
the  rear 

—  Kicks  administered  shall  right  this  wronged  civil- 
ian, —  never  fear, 

Mister  Clive,  for — though  a  clerk — you  bore  your- 
self —  suppose  we  say  — 

Just  as  would  beseem  a  soldier  ! ' 

"  '  Gentlemen,  attention  —  pray  ! 

First,  one  word  ! ' 

"  I  passed  each  speaker  severally  in  review. 

When  I  had  precise  their  number,  names  and  styles, 
and  fully  knew 

Over  whom  my  supervision  thenceforth  must  extend, 
—  why,  then  


CLIVE.  571 

"  *  Some  five  minutes  since,  my  life  lay  —  as  you  all 

saw,  gentlemen, 
At  the  mercy  of  your  friend  there.     Not  a  single  voice 

was  raised 
In  arrest  of  jugdment,  not  one  tongue  —  before  my 

powder  blazed  — 
Ventured  "  Can  it  be  the  youngster  blundered,  really 

seemed  to  mark 
Some    irregular  proceeding  ?     We  conjecture  in  the 

dark. 
Guess  at  random,  —  still,  for  sake  of  fair  play- —  what 

if  for  a  freak. 
In  a  fit  of  absence,  —  such  things  have  been  !  —  if  our 

friend  proved  weak 

—  What's  the   phrase?  —  corrected  fortune!     Look 

into  the  case,  at  least !  " 
Who  dared  interpose  between  the  altar's  victim  and 

the  priest  ? 
Yet  he  spared  me  !     You  eleven  !     Whosoever,  all  or 

each. 
Utters  —  to  the  disadvantage  of  the  man  who  spared 

me  —  speech 

—  To  his  face,  behind  his  back,  — that  speaker  has  to 

do  with  me  : 
Me  who  promise,  if   positions  change  and  mine  the 

chance  should  be, 
Not  to  imitate  your  friend  and  waive  advantage  1 ' 


372  CLIVE. 

"  T\vent}'-nve 

Years  ago  this  matter  happened  :  and  't  is  certain," 
added  Clive, 

"  Never,  to  my  knowledge,  did  Sir  Cocky  have  a  sin- 
gle breath 

Breathed  against  him  :  lips  were  closed  throughout  his 
life,  or  since  his  death. 

For  if  he  be  dead  or  living  I  can  tell  no  more  than 
you. 

All  I  know  is  —  Cocky  had  one  chance  more  ;  how  he 
used  it,  —  grew 

Out  of  such  unlucky  habits,  or  relapsed,  and  back 
again 

Brought  the  late-ejected  devil  with  a  score  more  in  his 
train, — 

That  's  for  you  to  judge.  Reprieval  I  procured,  at 
any  rate. 

Ugh  —  the  memory-  of  that  minute's  fear  makes  goose- 
flesh  rise  !     Why  prate 

Longer  ?  You  've  my  stor}%  there  's  your  instance  : 
fear  I  did,  you  see  !  " 

"  Well  "  —  I  hardly  kept  from  laughing  —  "  if  I  see  it, 

thanks  must  be 
Wholly  to  your  Lordship's  candor.     Xot  that  —  in  a 

common  case  — 
When  a  bully  caught  at  cheating  thrusts  a  pistol  in 

one's  face. 


CLIVE.  373 

I  should  under-rate,  believe  me,  such   a  trial  to  the 

nerve  ! 
'T  is  no  joke,  at  one-and-twenty,  for  a  youth  to  stand 

nor  swerve. 
Fear  I  naturally  look  for  —  unless,  of  all  men  alive, 
I  am  forced  to  make  exception  when  I  come  to  Robert 

Clive. 
Since  at  Arcot,  Plassy,  elsewhere,  he  and  death  —  the 

whole  world  knows  — 
Came  to  somewhat  closer  quarters." 

Quarters  ?     Had  we  come  to  blows, 
Clive  and  I,  you  had  not  wondered  —  up  he  sprang 

so,  out  he  rapped 
Such  a  round  of  oaths  —  no  matter!     I  '11  endeavor 

to  adapt 
To  our  modern  usage  words  he  —  well,  't  was  friendly 

license  —  flung 
At  me  like  so  many  fire-balls,  fast  as  he  could  wag  his 

tongue. 

"You  —  a  soldier?  You — at  Plassy?  Yours  the 
faculty  to  nick 

Instantaneously  occasion  when  your  foe,  if  lightning- 
quick, 

—  At  his  mercy,  at  his  malice,  —  has  you,  through 
some  stupid  inch 

Undefended  in  your  bulwark  ?  Thus  laid  open,  —  not 
to  flinch 


374  CLiVE. 

—  That  needs  courage,  you  '11  concede  me.     Then, 

look  here  !     Suppose  the  man, 
Checking  his  advance,  his  weapon  still  extended,  not 

a  span 
Distant  from  my  temple,  —  curse  him  !  —  quietly  had 

bade  me  '  There  ! 
Keep  your  life,  calumniator  !  — worthless  life  I  freely 

spare  : 
Mine  you  freely  would  have  taken  —  murdered  me  and 

my  good  fame 
Both   at  once  —  and  all  the  better  !     Go,  and  thank 

your  own  bad  aim 
Which  permits   me  to  forgive  you  ! '     What  if,  with 

such  words  as  these, 
He  had  cast  away  his  v/eapon  ?     How  should  I  have 

borne  me,  please  ? 
Nay,  I  '11  spare  you  pains  and  tell  you.     This,  and 

only  this,  remained  — 
Pick  his  weapon  up  and  use  it  on  myself.     I  so  had 

gained 
Sleep  the  earlier,  leaving  England  probably  to  pay  on 

still 
Rent  and  taxes  for  half  India,  tenant  at  the  French- 
man's will." 

"  Such  the  turn  "  said  I  "  the  matter  takes  with  you  1 
Then  I  abate 


CLivE.  375 

—  No,  by  not  one   jot  nor  tittle,  —  of  your  act  my 

estimate. 
Fear  —  I  wish  I  could  detect  there  :  courage  fronts 

me,  plain  enough  — 
Call  it  desperation,  madness  —  never  mind  !  for  here  's 

in  rough 
Why,  had  mine  been  such  a  trial,  fear  had  overcome 

disgrace. 
True,  disgrace  were  hard  to  bear :  but  such   a  rush 

against  God's  face 

—  None  of  that  for  me,  Lord  Plassy,  since  I  go  to 

church  at  times. 
Say  the  creed  my  mother  taught  me  !     Many  years  in 

foreign  climes 
Rub  some  marks  away — not  all,  though!     We  poor 

sinners  reach  life's  brink, 
Overlook  what  rolls  beneath  it,  recklessly  enough,  but 

think 
There  's  advantage  in  what 's  left  us —  ground  to  stand 

on,  time  to  call 
'  Lord,  have  mercy  ! '  ere  we   topple  over  —  do  not 

leap,  that 's  all !  " 
Oh,  he  made  no  answer,  —  re-absorbed  into  his  cloud. 

I  caught 
Something  like  "Yes  —  courage:  only  fools  will  call 

it  fear," 

If  aught 


376  CLiVE. 

Comfort  you,  my  great  unhappy  hero  Clive,  in  that  I 

heard, 
Next  week,  how  your  own  hand  dealt  you  doom,  and 

uttered  just  the  word 
"  Fearfully  courageous  !  "  —  this,  be  sure,  and  nothing 

else  I  groaned. 
I  'm  no  Clive,  nor  parson  either  :  Clive's  worst  deed 

—  we  '11  hope  condoned. 


MULEYKEH. 


If  a  stranger  passed  the  tent  of  Hdseyn,  he  cried  "  A 
churl's  !  " 

Or  haply  "God  help  the  man  who  has  neither  salt  nor 
bread  !  " 

— "  Nay,"  would  a  friend  exclaim,  "  he  needs  nor 
pity  nor  scorn 

More  than  who  spends  small  thought  on  the  shore- 
sand,  picking  pearls, 

—  Holds  but  in  light  esteem  the  seed-sort,  bears  in- 
stead 

On  his  breast  a  moon-like  prize,  some  orb  which  of 
night  makes  morn. 

"  What  if  no  flocks  and  herds  enrich  the  son  of  Sinan  ? 
They  went  when  his  tribe  was  mulct,  ten   thousand 

camels  the  due, 
Blood-value  paid  perforce  for  a  murder  done  of  old. 
'  God  gave  them,  let  them  go  !     But  never  since  time 

began, 


378  MULEYKEH. 

Muleykeh,  peerless   mare,  owned  master  the  match  of 

you, 
And  you  are  my  prize,  my  Pearl  :  I  laugh  at  men's 

land  and  gold  ! ' 

"  So  in  the  pride  of   his  soul  laughs  Hdseyn  —  and 

right,  I  say. 
Do  the  ten  steeds  run  a  race  of  glor}''  ?     Outstripping 

all, 
Ever    Muleykeh    stands    first    steed    at   the   victor's 

staff. 
Who   started,    the   owner's    hope,    gets    shamed    and 

named,  that  day, 
'  Silence,'  or,  last  but  one,  is  '  The  Cuffed,'  as  we  use 

to  call 
Whom    the    paddock's    lord    thrusts    forth.      Right, 

Hdseyn,  I  say,  to  laugh." 

"  Boasts  he  MuleVkeh  the  Pearl  1  "  the  stranger  re- 
plies :  "  Be  sure 

On  him  I  waste  nor  scorn  nor  pity,  but  lavish  both 

On  Duhl  the  son  of  Sheyban,  who  withers  away  in 
heart 

For  envy  of  Hoseyn's  luck.  Such  sickness  admits  no 
cure, 

A  certain  poet  has  sung,  and  sealed  the  same  with  an 
oath, 


MULEYKEH.  'i^Jc^ 

'  For  the  vulgar  —  flocks  and  herds  !     The  Pearl  is  a 

prize  apart.'  " 
Lo,  Duhl  the  son  of  Sheyban  comes  riding  to  Hdseyn's 

tent, 
And    he     casts    his    saddle    down,    and    enters    and 

"  Peace  "  bids  he. 
"  You  are  poor,  I  know  the  cause  :  my  plenty  shall 

mend  the  wrong, 
'T  is  said  of  your  Pearl  —  the  price  of  a  hundred  cam- 
els spent 
In  her  purchase  were  scarce  ill  paid  :  such  prudence 

is  far  from  me 
Who  proffer  a  thousand.     Speak  !     Long  parley  may 

last  too  long." 

Said  Hoseyn  "  You  feed  young  beasts  a  many,  of  fa- 
mous breed, 

Slit-eared,  unblemished,  fat,  true  offspring  of  Miizen- 
nem  : 

There  stumbles  no  weak-eyed  she  in  the  line  as  it 
climbs  the  hill. 

But  I  love  Muldykeh's  face  :  her  forefront  whitens  in- 
deed 

Like  a  yellowish  wave's  cream-crest.  Your  camels  — 
go  gaze  on  them  ! 

Her  fetlock  is  foam-splashed  too.  Myself  am  the 
richei  still." 


380  MULEYKEH. 

A  year  goes  by :  lo,  back  to  the  tent  again  rides  Duhl, 

"  You  are  open-hearted,  ay  —  moist-handed,  a  very 
prince. 

Why  should  I  speak  of  sale  ?  Be  the  mare  your  sim- 
ple gift  ! 

My  son  is  pined  to  death  for  her  beauty :  my  wife 
prompts  '  Fool, 

Beg  for  his  sake  the  Pearl !  Be  God  the  rewarder, 
since 

God  pays  debts  seven  for  one  :  who  squanders  on 
Him  shows  thrift.'  " 

Said  Hdseyn  "  God  gives  each  man  one  life,  like  a 
lamp,  then  gives 

That  lamp  due  measure  of  oil  :  lamp  lighted  —  hold 
high,  wave  wide 

Its  comfort  for  others  to  share  !  once  quench  it,  what 
help  is  left  ? 

The  oil  of  your  lamp  is  your  son  :  I  shine  while  Mu- 
le'ykeh  lives. 

Would  I  beg  your  son  to  cheer  my  dark  if  Muleykeh 
died? 

It  is  life  against  life  :  what  good  avails  to  the  life- 
bereft  ?  " 

Another  year,  and  —  hist !  What  craft  is  it  Duhl  de- 
signs ? 


mul£ykeh.  381 

He  alights  not  at  the  door  of  the  tent  as  he  did  last 
time, 

But,  creeping  behind,  he  gropes  his  stealthy  way  by 
the  trench 

Half-round  till  he  finds  the  flap  in  the  folding,  for 
night  combines 

With  the  robber  —  and  such  is  he  :  Duhl,  covetous 
up  to  crime. 

Must  wring  from  Hoseyn's  grasp  the  Pearl,  by  what- 
ever the  wrench. 

"  He  was  hunger-bitten,  I  heard  :  I  tempted  with  half 

my  store, 
And  a  gibe  was  all  my  thanks.     Is  he  generous  like 

Spring  dew  ? 
Account  the  fault  to  me  who  chaffered  with  such  an 

one  !  ■ 
He  has  killed,  to  feast  chance  comers,  the  creature  he 

rode  :  nay,  more  — 
For  a  couple  of  singing-girls  his  robe  has  he  torn  in 

two  : 
I  will  beg  !     Yet  I  nowise  gained  by  the  tale  of  my 

wife  and  son. 

"  I  swear  by  the  Holy  House,  my  head  will  I  never 

wash 
Till  I  filch  his  Pearl  away.     Fair  dealing  I  tried,  then 

guile, 


382  MULEYKEH. 

And  now  I  resort  to  force.     He  said  we  must  live  or 

die  : 
Let  him  die,  then,  —  let  me  live  !     Be  bold  — but  not 

too  rash  ! 
I  have  found  me  a  peeping-place  :  breast,  bury  your 

breathing  while 
I  explore  for  myself !     Now,  breathe  !     He  deceived 

me  not,  the  spy  ! 

"  As  he  said  —  there  lies  in  peace  Hdseyn  —  how 
happy !     Beside 

Stands  tethered  the  Pearl  :  thrice  winds  her  headstall 
about  his  wrist  : 

'Tis  therefore  he  sleeps  so  sound  —  the  moon  through 
the  roof  reveals. 

And,  loose  on  his  left,  stands  too  that  other,  known 
far  and  wide, 

Buhe'yseh,  her  sister  born  :  fleet  is  she  yet  ever  missed 

The  winning  tail's  fire-flash  a-stream  past  the  thunder- 
ous heels. 

"  No  less  she  stands  saddled  and  bridled,  tliis  second, 

in  case  some  thief 
Should   enter  and   seize  and  fly  with  the   first,  as  I 

mean  to  do. 
What  then  ?    The  Pearl  is  the  Pearl :  once  mount  her 

we  both  escape." 


MULEYKEH.  383 

Through  the  skirt-fold  in  gUdes  Duhl,  —  so  a  serpent 
disturbs  no  leaf 

In  a  bush  as  he  parts  the  twigs  entwining  a  nest : 
clean  through, 

He  is  noiselessly  at  his  work  :  as  he  planned,  he  per- 
forms the  rape. 

He  has  set  the  tent-door  wide,  has  buckled  the  girth, 

has  clipped 
The  headstall  away  from  the  wrist  he   leaves  thrice 

bound  as  before. 
He  springs  on  the  Pearl,  is  launched  on  the  desert 

like  bolt  from  bow. 
Up  starts  our  plundered  man  :  from  his  breast  though 

the  heart  be  ripped, 
Yet  his  mind  has  the  mastery :  behold,  in  a  minute 

more, 
He  is  out  and  off  and  away  on  Buheyseh,  whose  worth 

we  know  ! 

And  Hdseyn  —  his  blood  turns  flame,  he  has  learned 

long  since  to  ride, 
And  Buheyseh  does  her  part,  —  they  gain  —  they  are 

gaining  fast 
On  the  fugitive  pair,  and  Duhl  has  Ed-Darraj  to  cross 

and  quit. 
And  to  reach  the  ridge  El-Saban,  —  no  safety  till  that 

be  spied  ! 


384  MULEYKEH. 

And  Buheyseh  is,  bound  by  bound,  but  a  horse-length 

off  at  last, 
For  the  Pearl  has  missed  the  tap  of  the  heel,  the  touch 

of  the  bit. 

She  shortens  her  stride,  she  chafes  at  her  rider  the 

strange  and  queer  : 
Buheyseh  is  mad  with  hope  —  beat  sister  she  shall  and 

must. 
Though  Duhl,  of  the  hand  and  heel  so  clumsy,  she 

has  to  thank. 
She   is    near  now,  nose   by  tail  —  they  are   neck   by 

croup  —  joy  !  fear  ! 
What  folly  makes  Hoseyn  shout  "  Dog  Duhl,  Damned 

son  of  the  Dust, 
Touch  the  right  ear  and  press  with  your  foot  my  Pearl's 

left  flank  !  " 

And  Duhl  was  wise  at  the  word,  and  Muleykeh  as 
prompt  perceived 

Who  was  urging  redoubled  pace,  and  to  hear  him  was 
to  obey, 

And  a  leap  indeed  gave  she,  and  evanished  for  ever 
more. 

And  Hoseyn  looked  one  long  last  look  as  who,  all  be- 
reaved, 


MULE  YK EH.  385 

Looks,   fain  to  follow  the  dead  so  far  as  the  living 

ma}- : 
Then   he    turned    Buheyseh's    neck   slow   homeward, 

weeping  sore. 

And,  lo,  in  the   sunrise,  still   sat   Hoseyn   upon  the 

ground 
Weeping :    and    neighbors    came,    the    tribesmen    of 

Benu-Asad 
In  the  vale  of  green  Er-Rass,  and  they  questioned  him 

of  his  grief  ; 
And  he  told  from  first  to  last  how,  serpent-like,  Duhl 

had  wound 
His  way  to  the  nest,  and  how  Duhl  rode  like  an  ape, 

so  bad  ! 
And  how  Buhe'yseh  did  wonders,  yet  Pearl  remained 

with  the  thief. 

And  they  jeered  him,  one  and  all  :  "  Poor  Hoseyn  is 

crazed  past  hope  ! 
How  else  had  he  wrought  himself  his  ruin,  in  fortune's 

spite  ? 
To  have  simply  held  the  tongue  were  a  task  for  a  boy 

or  girl, 
And  here  were  Muleykeh  again,  the  eyed  like  an  ante- 

telope, 

25 


386  MULEYKEH. 

The  child  of  his  heart  by  day,  the  wife  of  his  breast  by 

night !  "  — 
"  And  the  beaten  in  speed  !  "  wept  Hdseyn  :   "  You 

never  have  loved  my  Pearl." 


PIETRO   OF   ABANO. 


Petnis  Aponensis  —  there  was  a  magician  ! 

When  that  strange  adventure  happened,  which  I  mean 

to  tell  my  hearers, 
Nearly  had  he  tried  all  trades  —  beside  physician, 
Architect,  astronomer,  astrologer,  —  or  worse  : 
How  else,  as  the  old  books  warrant,  was  he  able, 
All  at  once,  through  all  the  world,  to  prove  the  prompt- 
est of  appearers 
Where  was  prince  to  cure,  tower  to  build  as  high  as 

Babel, 
Star  to  name  or  sky-sign  read,  —  yet  pouch,  for  pains, 
a  curse  ? 

—  Curse  :  for  when  a  vagrant,  —  foot-sore,  travel-tat- 
tered. 

Now  a  young  man,  now  an  old  man,  Turk  or  Arab, 
Jew  or  Gypsy,  — 

Proffered  folks  in  passing  —  O  for  pay,  what  mat- 
tered ?  — 


388  PIETRO   OF  ABANO. 

"I  '11  be  doctor,  I'll  play  builder,  star  I  '11  name  — 
sign  read  !  " 

Soon  as  prince  was  cured,  tower  built,  and  fate  pre- 
dicted, 

"  Who  may  you  be  ? "  came  the  question  ;  when  he 
answered  '■'■  Petrus  ipse,'''' 

"Just  as  we  divined  !  "  cried  folks  —  "A  wretch  con- 
victed 

Long  ago  of  dealing  with  the  devil  —  you  indeed !  " 

So,  they  cursed  him  roundly,  all  his  labor's  pa)mient. 
Motioned  him — the  convalescent  prince  would  —  to 

vacate  the  presence  : 
Babylonians  plucked  his  beard  and  tore  his  raiment, 
Drove  him  from  that  tower  he  built :  while,  had  he 

peered  at  stars, 
Town  howled  "  Stone  the  quack  who  styles  our  Dog- 
star  —  Sirius  !  " 
Country  yelled  "Aroint  the  churl  who  prophesies  we 

take  no  pleasance 
Under  vine  and  fig-tree,  since  the  year  's  delirious. 
Bears  no  crop  of  any  kind,  —  all  through  the  planet 
Mars  !  " 

Straightway  would  the  whileom  youngster  grow  a  gri- 

sard, 
Or,  as  case  might  hap,  the  hoary  eld  drop  off  and  show 

a  stripling. 


PIETRO    OF  ABANO.  389 

Town  and  countr}'  groaned  —  indebted  to  a  wizard  ! 
**  Curse  —  nay,  kick  and  cuff  him  — fit  requital  of  his 

pains  ! 
Gratitude  in  word  or  deed  were  wasted  truly ! 
Rather  make  the  Church  amends  by  crying  out  on, 

cramping,  crippling 
One  who,  on  pretence  of  serving  man,  serves  duly 
Man's  arch  foe  :  not  ours,  be  sure,  but  Satan's  —  his 

the  gains  !  " 

Peter  grinned  and  bore  it,  such  disgraceful  usage  : 
Somehow,  cuffs  and  kicks  and  curses  seem  ordained 

his  like  to  suffer  : 
Prophet's  pay  with  Christians,  now  as  in  the  Jews'  age, 
Still  is  —  stoning  :  so,  he  meekly  took  his  wage  and 

went, 
—  Safe  again  was  found  ensconced  in  those  old  quar- 
ters, 
Padua's  blackest  blindest  byestreet,  —  none  the  worse, 

nay,  somewhat  tougher  : 
"  Calculating  "  quoth  he  "  soon  I  join  the  mart^TS, 
Since,    who   magnify   my    lore,    on    burning   me   are 
bent."  1 

1  "  Studiando  le  mie  cifre  col  compasso, 
Rilevo  che  saro  presto  sotterra, 
Perche  del  niio  saper  si  fa  gran  chiasso, 
E  gl'ignoranti  m'hanno  mosso  guerra." 


390  PIETRO    OF  ABANO. 

Now  as,  on  a  certain  evening,  to  his  alley- 
Peter  slunk,  all  bruised  and  broken,  sore  in  body,  sick 

in  spirit. 
Just  escaped  from  Cairo  where  he  launched  a  galley 
Needing  neither  sails  nor  oars  nor  help  of  wind  or 

tide, 
—  Needing  but  the  fume  of  fire  to  set  a-fiying 
Wheels  like  mad  which  whirled  you  quick  —  North, 

South,  where'er  you  pleased  require  it,  — 
That  is  —  would  have  done  so  had  not  priests  come 

prying, 
Broke  his  engine  up  and  bastinadoed  him  beside  :  — 

As  he  reached  his  lodging,  stopped  there  unmolested, 
(Neighbors  feared  him,   urchins  fled   him,   few  were 

bold  enough  to  follow) 
While  his  fumbling  fingers  tried  the  lock  and  tested 
Once  again  the  queer  key's  virtue,  oped    the  sullen 

door,  — 
Some  one  plucked  his  sleeve,  cried  "  Master,  pray  your. 

pardon  ! 

Said  to  have  been  found  in  a  well  at  Abano  in  the  last  centurv*. 
They  were  extemporaneously  Englished  thus  :  not  as  Father 
Prout  chose  to  prefer  them  : 

Studying  my  ciphers  with  the  compass, 
I  reckon  —  I  soon  shall  be  below-ground  ; 

Because,  of  my  lore  folks  make  great  rumpus, 
And  war  on  mj-self  makes  each  dull  rogue  round. 


PIETRO   OF  ABA  NO.  39I 

Grant  a  word  to  me  who  patient  wait  you  in  your  arch- 
way's hollow  ! 

Hard  on  you  men's  hearts  are  :  be  not  your  heart  hard 
on 

Me  who  kiss  your  garment's  hem,  O  Lord  of  magic 
lore  ! 

"  Mage  —  say  I,  who  no  less,  scorning  tittle-tattle, 

To  the  vulgar  give  no  credence  when  they  prate  of 
Peter's  magic, 

Deem  his  art  brews  tempest,  hurts  the  crops  and  cat- 
tle, 

Hinders  fowls  from  laying  eggs  and  worms  from  spin- 
ning silk, 

Rides  upon  a  he-goat,  mounts  at  need  a  broomstick  : 

While  the  price  he  pays  for  this  (so  turns  to  comic 
what  was  tragic) 

Is  —  he  may  not  drink  —  dreads  like  the  Day  of 
Doom's  tick  — 

One  poor  drop  of  sustenance  ordained  mere  men  — 
that 's  milk  ! 

"  Tell  such  tales  to  Padua  !  Think  me  no  such  dul- 
lard ! 

Not  from  these  benighted  parts  did  I  derive  my  breath 
and  being  ! 

I  am  from  a  land  whose  cloudless  skies  are  colored 


392  PIETRO   OF  ABANO. 

Livelier,  suns  orb  largelier,  airs  seem  incense,  — while, 

on  earth  — 
What,  instead  of  grass,  our  fingers  and  our  thumbs 

cull, 
Proves  true  moly  !  sounds  and  sights  there  help  the 

body's  hearing,  seeing, 
Till  the  soul   grows  godlike  :  brief,  —  you   front  no 

numb-scull 
Shaming  by  ineptitude  the  Greece  that  gave  him  birth  ! 

"  Mark  within  my  eye  its  iris  mystic-lettered  — 

That 's  my  name  !  and  note  my  ear —  its  swan-shaped 

cavity,  my  emblem  ! 
Mine  's  the  swan-like  nature  born  to  fly  unfettered 
Over  land  and  sea  in  search  of  knowledge  —  food  for 

song 
Art  denied  the  vulgar!     Geese  grow  fat  on  barley. 
Swans  require  aetherial  provend,  undesirous  to  resem- 
ble 'em  — 
Soar  to  seek  Apollo,  —  favored  with  a  parley 
Such  as,  Master,  you  grant  me — who  will  not  hold 
you  long. 

"Leave  to  learn  to  sing  —  for  that  your  swan  peti- 
tions : 

Master,  who  possess  the  secret,  say  not  nay  to  such  a 
suitor ! 


riETRO   OF  ABA  NO.  393 

All  I  ask  is  —  bless  mine,  purest  of  ambitions  ! 
Grant  me  leave   to  make  my  kind  wise,    free,    and 

happy  !     How  ? 
Just  by  making  me  —  as  you  are  mine  —  their  model ! 
Geese  have  goose-thoughts  :  make  a  swan  their  teacher 

first,  then  co-adjutor,  — 
Let  him  introduce  swan-notions  to  each  noddle,  — 
Geese  wall  soon  grow  swans,  and  men  become  what  I 

am  now  ! 

"  That 's  the  only  magic  —  had  but  fools  discern- 
ment, 

Could  they  probe  and  pass  into  the  solid  through  the 
soft  and  seeming  ! 

Teach  me  such  true  magic  —  now  and  no  adjourn- 
ment ! 

Teach  your  art  of  making  fools  subserve  the  man  of 
mind  ! 

Magic  is  the  power  we  men  of  mind  should  practise, 

Draw  fools  to  become  our  drudges  —  docile  hence- 
forth, never  dreaming  — 

While  they  do  our  bests  for  fancied  gain  —  the  fact  is 

What  they  toil  and  moil  to  get  proves  falsehood  : 
truth  's  behind  ! 

"  See  now !  you  conceive  some  fabric  —  say,  a  man- 
sion 


394  PIETRO   OF  ABANO. 

Meet  for  monarch's  pride  and  pleasure  :  this  is  truth 
—  a  thought  has  fired  you, 

Made  you  fain  to  give  some  cramped  concept  expan- 
sion, 

Put  your  faculty  to  proof,  fulfil  your  nature's  task. 

First  you  fascinate  the  monarch's  self :  he  fancies 

He  it  was  devised  the  scheme  you  execute  as  he  in- 
spired you  : 

He  in  turn  sets  slaving  insignificances 

Toiling,  moiling  till  your  structure  stands  there  —  all 
you  ask  ! 

"  Soon  the   monarch  's    known  for  what  he  was  —  a 

ninny  : 
Soon  the  rabble-rout  leave  labor,  take  their  work-day 

W'age  and  vanish  :  . 

Soon  the  late  puffed  bladder,  pricked,  shows  lank  and 

skinny  — 
'  Who  was   its    inflator  ?  '    ask  we  '  whose    the   giant 

lungs  ?  ' 
Petri  en  puhnones  !    What  though  men  prove  ingrates  ? 
Let  them  —  so  they  stop  at  crucifixion  —  buffet,  ban 

and  banish  ! 
Peter's   power 's    apparent :    human    praise  —  its  din 

grates 
Harsh  as  blame  on  ear  unused  to  aught  save  angels' 

tongues. 


PIETRO    OF  ABANO.  395 

"Ay,  there  have  been  always,  since  our  world  existed, 
Mages    who   possessed   the    secret  —  needed   but   to 

stand  still,  fix  eye 
On  the  foolish  mortal  :  straight  was  he  enlisted 
Soldier,  scholar,   servant,  slave  —  no    matter  for  the 

style  ! 
Only  through  illusion  ;  ever  what  seemed  profit  — 
Love  or  lucre  —  justified  obedience  to  the  Ipse  dixi  : 
Work    done  —  palace   reared   from   pavement   up  to 

soffit  — 
Was  it  strange  if  builders  smelt  out  cheating  all  the 

while  ? 

"  Let  them  pelt  and  pound,  bruise,  bray  you  in  a  mor- 
tar! 

What 's  the  odds  to  you  who  seek  reward  of  quite  an- 
other nature  ? 

You  've  enrolled  your  name  where  sages  of  your  sort 
are, 

— Michael  of  Constantinople,  Hans  of  Halberstadt ! 

Nay  and  were  you  nameless,  still  you  've  youi  convic- 
tion 

You  it  was  and  only  you  —  what  signifies  the  nomen- 
clature ?  — 

Ruled  the  world  in   fact,   though  how  you  ruled  be 
fiction 

Fit  for  fools  :   true  wisdom's  magic  you  —  if  e'er  r^ 
—  had  't ! 


396  PIETRO   OF  ABANO. 

"  But  perhaps  you  ask  me  '  Since  each  ignoramus 
While  he  profits  by  such  magic  persecutes  the  bene- 
factor, 
What  should  I  expect  but  —  once  I  render  famous 
You  as  Michael,  Hans  and  Peter  —  just  one  ingrate 

more  ? 
If  the  vulgar  prove  thus,  whatsoe'er  the  pelf  be, 
Pouched    through   my   beneficence  —  and    doom    me 

dungeoned,  chained,  or  racked,  or 
Fairly  burned  outright  —  how  grateful  will  yourself  be 
When,  his  secret   gained,  you  match    your  —  master 
just  before  ? ' 

"  That 's  where  I  await  you  !     Please,  revert  a  little  ! 

What  do  folks  report  about  you  if  not  this  —  which, 
though  chimeric, 

Still,  as  figurative,  suits  you  to  a  tittle  — 

That,  —  although  the  elements  obey  your  nod  and 
wink. 

Fades  or  flowers  the  herb  you  chance  to  smile  or  sigh 
at. 

While  your  frown  bids  earth  quake  palled  by  obscura- 
tion atmospheric,  — 

Brief,  although  through  nature  nought  resists  jonrjtat, 

There  's  yet  one  poor  substance  mocks  you  —  milk 
you  may  not  drink  ! 


PIETRO   OF  ABANO.  397 

"  Figurative  language  !     Take  my  explanation  ! 

Fame  with  fear,  and  hate  with  homage,  these  your  art 
procures  in  plenty. 

All 's  but  daily  dry  bread  :  what  makes  moist  the  ra- 
tion ? 

Love,  the  milk  that  sweetens  man  his  meal  —  alas, 
you  lack  ! 

I  am  he  who,  since  he  fears  you  not,  can  love  you. 

Love  is  born  of  heart  not  mind,  de  corde  natus  hand  de 
metite  ; 

Touch  my  heart  and  love 's  yours,  sure  as  shines 
above  you 

Sun  by  day  and  star  by  night  though  earth  should  go 
to  wrack  ! 

"  Stage  by  stage  you  lift  me  —  kiss  by  kiss  I  hallow 
Whose  but  your  dear  hand  my  helper,  punctual  as  at 

each  new  impulse 
I  approach  my  aim  ?    Shell  chipped,  the  eaglet  callow 
Needs  a  parent's  pinion  push  to  quit  the  eyrie's  edge : 
But  once  fairly  launched  forth,  denizen  of  sEther, 
While  each  effort  sunward  bids  the  blood  more  freely 

through  each  limb  pulse. 
Sure  the  parent  feels,  as  gay  they  soar  together, 
Fully  are    all   pains   repaid   when    love    redeems   its 

pledge  !  " 


39S  PIETRO   OF  ABAXO. 

Then  did  Peter's  tristful  visage  lighten  somewhat, 

Vent  a  watery  smile  as  though  inveterate  mistrust 
were  thawing. 

"  Well,  who  knows  ?  "  he  slow  broke  silence.  "  Mor- 
tals —  come  what 

Come  there  may  —  are  still  the  dupes  of  hope  there  's 
luck  in  store. 

Many  scholars  seek  me,  promise  mounts  and  mangels  : 

Here  stand  I  to  witness  how  they  step  'twixt  me  and 
clapperclawing  ! 

Dr}^  bread,  —  that  I  've  gained  me  :  truly  I  should 
starve  else  : 

But  of  milk,  no  drop  was  mine  !  Well,  shuffle  cards 
once  more  !  " 

At  the  w^ord  of  promise  thus  implied,  our  stran- 
ger— 

What  can  he  but  cast  his  arms,  in  rapture  of  embrace, 
round  Peter  .-• 

•'  Hold  !  I  choke  !  "  the  mage  gmnts,  "  Shall  I  in 
the  manger 

Any  longer  play  the  dog  ?  Approach,  my  calf,  and 
feed! 

Bene  .  .  .  won't  you  wait  for  grace  ?  "  But  sudden 
incense 

Wool-white,  serpent-solid,  curled  up  —  perfume  grow- 
ing sweet  and  sweeter 


PIETRO    OF  ABANO.  399 

Till  it  reached  the  young  man's  nose  and  seemed  to 

win  sense 
Soul  and  all  from  out  his  brain  through  nostril  :  yes, 

indeed  ! 

Presently  the  young  man  rubbed  his  eyes.     "  Where 

am  I  ? 
Too   much   bother  over   books  !     Some   reverie    has 

proved  amusing. 
What  did  Peter  prate  of  ?    'Faith,  my  brow  is  clammy! 
How  my  head  throbs,  how  my  heart  thumps  !     Can  it 

be  I  swooned  ? 
Oh,   I  spoke  my  speech  out  —  cribbed    from  Plato's 

tractate, 
Dosed  him  with  '  the  Fair  and  Good,'  swore  —  Dog  of 

Eg}-pt  —  I  was  choosing 
Plato's  way  to  ser\-e  men  !     What's  the  hour?     Exact 

eight ! 
Home    now,  and    to-morrow  never   mind   how  Plato 

mooned  ! 

"  Peter  has  the  secret  !     Fair  and  Good  are  products 
(So  he  said)  of  Foul  and  Evil  :    one  must  bring  to 

pass  the  other. 
Just  as  poisons  grow  drugs,  steal  through  sundry  odd 

ducts 
Doctors  name,  and  ultimately  issue  safe  and  changed. 


400  PIETRO   OF  ABANO. 

You  "d  abolish  poisons,  treat  disease  with  dainties 
Such  as  suit  the  sound  and  sane  ?    With  all  such  kick- 
shaws vain  you  pother ! 
Arsenic  's  the  stuff  puts  force  into  the  faint  eyes, 
Opium  sets  the  brain  to  rights  —  by  cark  and  care  de- 
ranged. 

"  What,  he  's  safe  within  door  ?  —  would  escape  —  no 

question  — 
Thanks,  since  thanks  and  more  I  owe,  and  mean  to 

pay  in  time  befitting. 
What  most  presses  now  is  —  after  night's  digestion, 
Peter,  of  thy  precepts  !  —  promptest  practice  of  the 

same. 
Let  me  see  !    The  wise  man,  first  of  all,  scorns  riches  : 
But  to  scorn  them  must  obtain  them  :  none  believes 

in  his  permitting 
Gold  to  lie  ungathered  :  who  picks  up,  then  pitches 
Gold  away  —  philosophizes  :  none  disputes  his  claim. 

"  So  with  worldly  honors  :  't  is  by  abdicating, 
Incontestably  he  proves  he  could  have  kept  the  crown 

discarded. 
Sylla  cuts  a  figure,  leaving  off  dictating  : 
Simpletons  laud  private  life  ?     '  The  grapes  are  sour,' 

laugh  we. 
So,  again  —  but  why  continue  t     All 's  tumultuous 


PIETRO   OF  ABANO.  4OI 

Here  :  my  head  's  a-whirl  with  knowledge.  Speedily 
shall  be  rewarded 

He  who  taught  me  !  Greeks  prove  ingrates  ?  So  in- 
sult you  us  ? 

When  your  teaching  bears  its  first-fruits,  Peter  —  wait 
and  see  !  " 

As  the  word,  the  deed  proved  ;  ere  a  brief  year's  pas- 
sage, 

Fop  —  that  fool  he  made  the  jokes  on  —  now  he  made 
the  jokes  for,  gratis  : 

Hunks  —  that  hoarder,  long  left  lonely  in  his  crass 
age  — 

Found  now  one  appreciative  deferential  friend  : 

Powder-paint-and-patch,  Hag  Jezebel  —  recovered. 

Strange  to  say,  the  power  to  please,  got  courtship  till 
she  cried  yavi  satis  I 

Fop  be -flattered,  Hunks  be -friended,  Hag  be-lov- 
ered  — 

Nobody  o'erlooked,  save  God  —  he  soon  attained  his 
end. 

As  he  lounged  at  ease  one  morning  in  his  villa, 
(Hag's  the   dowr}^)  estimated  (Hunks'  bequest)  his 

coin  in  coffer, 
Mused  on  how  a  fool's  good  word  (Fop's  word)  could 

fill  a 

26 


402  PIE  mo   OF  ABANO. 

Social    circle    with   his    praise,  promote  him  man    of 

mark,  — 
All  at    once  —  "  An  old  friend   fain  would  see  your 

Highness  !  " 
There  stood  Peter,  skeleton  and  scarecrow,  plain  writ 

Phi-lo-so-pher 
In  the  woe-worn  face  — for  yellowness  and  dr}^ness, 
Parchment  —  with   a   pair  of   eyes  —  one  hope  their 

feeble  spark. 

"  Did  I  counsel  rightly  ?     Have  you,  in  accordance. 
Prospered  greatly,  dear  my  pupil  ?     Sure,  at  just  the 

stage  I  find  you 
When  your  hand  may  draw  me  forth  from  the  mad 

war-dance 
Savages  are  leading  round  your  master  —  down,  not 

dead. 
Padua  wants  to  burn  me  :  baulk  them,  let  me  linger 
Life  out  —  rueful  though  its  remnant  —  hid  in  some 

safe  hole  behind  you  ! 
Prostrate  here  I  lie  :  quick,  help  with  but  a  finger 
Lest  I  house  in  safety's  self  —  a  tombstone  o'er  my 

head  ! 

"  Lodging,  bite  and    sup,  with  —  now  and  then  —  a 

copper 
—  Alms  for  any  poorer  still,  if  such  there  be,  —  is  all 

my  asking. 


PIETRO   OF  ABANO.  403 

Take  me  for  your  bedesman,  —  na}^,  if  you  think 
proper, 

Menial  merely,  —  such  my  perfect  passion  for  repose  ! 

Yes,  from  out  your  plenty  Peter  craves  a  pittance 

—  Leave  to  thaw  his  frozen  hands  before  the  fire 
whereat  you  're  basking  ! 

Double  though  your  debt  were,  grant  this  boon  —  re- 
mittance 

He  proclaims  of  obligation  :  't  is  himself  that  owes  !  " 

"Venerated  Master  —  can  it  be,  such  treatment 
Learning  meets  with,  magic  fails  to  guard  you  from, 

by  all  appearance  ? 
Strange  !  for,  as  you  entered,  —  what  the  famous  feat 

meant, 
I  was  full  of,  —  why  you  reared  that  fabric,  Padua's 

boast. 
Nowise  for  man's  pride,  man's  pleasure,  did  you  slyly 
Raise  it,  but  man's  seat  of  rule  whereby  the   world 

should  soon  have  clearance 
(Happy  world)  from  such  a  rout  as  now  so  vilely 
Handles  you  —  and  hampers  me,  for  which  I  grieve 

the  most. 

"  Since  if  it  got  wind  you  now  were  my  familiar, 
How  could  I  protect  you  —  nay,  defend  myself  against 
the  rabble  ? 


404  PIETRO   OF  ABANO. 

Wait  until  the  mob,  now  masters,  willy-nilly  are 
Servants  as  they  should  be  :  then  has  gratitude  full 

play ! 
Surely  this  experience  shows  how  unbefitting 
'T  is  that  minds   like  mine   should  rot  in   ease   and 

plenty.     Geese  may  gabble, 
Gorge,  and  keep  the  ground  :  but  swans  are  soon  for 

quitting 
Earthly  fare  —  as  fain  would  I,  your  swan,  if  taught 

the  way. 

"  Teach  me,  then,  to  rule  men,  have  them  at  my  pleas- 
ure ! 

Solely  for  their  good,  of  course,  —  impart  a  secret 
worth  rewarding. 

Since  the  proper  life's-prize  !     Tantalus's  treasure 

Aught  beside  proves,  vanishes  and  leaves  no  trace  at 
all. 

Wait  awhile,  nor  press  for  payment  prematurely ! 

Over-haste  defrauds  you.  Thanks  !  since,  —  even  while 
I  speak,  —  discarding 

Sloth  and  vain  delights,  I  learn  how —  swifth',  surely  — 

Magic  sways  the  sceptre,  wears  the  crown  and  wields 
the  ball ! 

''Gone  again  — what,  is  he?  'Faith,  he  's  soon  dis- 
posed of ! 


PIETRO   OF  ABANO.  405 

Peter's    precepts  work   alread}^,   put  within  my  lump 

their  leaven  ! 
Ay,  we  needs  must  don  glove  would  we  pluck  the  rose 

—  doff 
Silken  garment  would  we  climb  the  tree  and  take  its 

fruit. 
\Miy   sharp    thorn,    rough    rind  ?      To    keep   unvio- 

lated 
Either  prize  !     We  garland  us,  we  mount  from  earth 

to  feast  in  heaven. 
Just  because  exist  what  once  we  estimated 
Hindrances  which,  better  taught,   as   helps   we   now 

compute. 

"  Foolishly  I  turned  disgusted  from  my  fellows  ! 

Pits  of  ignorance  —  to  fill,  and  heaps  of  prejudice  — 
to  level  — 

INIultitudes  in  motley,  whites  and  blacks  and  yel- 
lows — 

What  a  hopeless  task  it  seemed  to  discipline  the  host ! 

Now  I  see  my  error.     Vices  act  like  virtues 

—  Not  alone  because  they  guard  —  sharp  thorns  — 
the  rose  we  first  dishevel, 

Not  because  they  scrape,  scratch  —  rough  rind  — 
through  the  dirt-shoes 

Bare  feet  cling  to  bole  with,  while  the  half-mooned 
boot  we  boast. 


406  PIETRO   OF  ABANO. 

"  No,  my  aim  is  nobler,  more  disinterested  ! 

Man  shall  keep  what  seemed  to  thwart  him,  since  it 

proves  his  true  assistance, 
Leads  to  ascertaining  which  head  is  the  best  head, 
Would  he  crown  his  body,  rule  its  members  —  lawless 

else. 
Ignorant  the  horse  stares,  by  deficient  vision 
Takes  a  man  to  be  a  monster,  lets  him  mount,  then, 

twice  the  distance 
Horse   could   trot   unridden,   gallops  —  dream    Elys- 

ian  !  — 
Dreaming  that  his  dwarfish  guide  's  a  giant,  — jockeys 

tell 's." 

Brief,  so  worked  the  spell,  he  promptly  had  a  rid- 
dance : 

Heart  and  brain  no  longer  felt  the  pricks  which  passed 
for  conscience-scruples  : 

Free  henceforth  his  feet,  —  Per  Bacco,  how  they  did 
dance 

Merrily  through  lets  and  checks  that  stopped  the  way 
before  ! 

Politics  the  prize  now,  —  such  adroit  adviser, 

Opportune  suggester,  with  the  tact  that  triples  and 
quadruples 

Merit  in  each  measure,  —  never  did  the  Kaiser 

Boast  a  subject  such  a  statesman,  friend,  and  some- 
thing more  1 


PIETRO  OF  ABANO.  407 

As  he,  up  and  down,  one  noonday,  paced  his  closet 
—  Council  o'er,  each  spark  (his  hint)  blown  flame,  by 

colleagues'  breath  applauded, 
Strokes  of  statecraft  hailed  with  "  Salomo  si  nossct !  " 
(His    the    nostrum)  —  every   throw   for   luck    come 

double-six,  — 
As  he,  pacing,  hugged  himself  in  satisfaction. 
Thump  —  the  door  went.     "  What,  the  Kaiser  ?     By 

none  else  were  I  defrauded 
Thus  of  well-earned   solace.     Since  'tis   fate's  exac- 
tion, — 
Enter,  Liege  my  Lord  !     Ha,  Peter,  you  here  ?     Te- 
neor  vix  !" 

"  Ah,  Sir,  none  the  less,  contain  you,  nor  wax  irate  ! 
You  so  lofty,  I  so  lowly,  —  vast  the  space  which  yawns 

between  us  ! 
Still,   methinks,   you  —  more    than   ever  —  at  a  high 

rate 
Needs  must  prize  poor  Peter's  secret  since  it  lifts  you 

thus. 
Grant  me  now  the  boon  whereat  before  you  boggled  ! 
Ten  long  years  your  march  has  moved  —  one  triumph 

—  (though  e  's  short)  —  hacteniis, 
While  I  down  and  down  disastrously  have  joggled 
Till  I  pitch  against  Death's  door,  the  true  Nee  Ultra 

Plus. 


408  PIETRO   OF  ABAiVO. 

"  Years   ago  —  some   ten    't  is  —  since  I   sought   for 

shelter, 
Craved  in  your  whole  house  a  closet,  out  of  all  your 

means  a  comfort. 
Now  you  soar  above  these  :  as  is  gold  to  spelter 
So  is  power  —  you  urged  with  reason  —  paramount  to 

wealth. 
Power  you  boast  in  plenty :  let  it  grant  me  refuge  ! 
Houseroom  now  is  out  of  question  :  find  for  me  some 

stronghold  —  some  fort  — 
Privacy  wherein,  immured,  shall  this  blind  deaf  huge 
Monster  of   a  mob    let   stay  the    soul    I  'd   save   by 

stealth ! 

"  Ay,  for  all  too  much  with  magic  have  I  tampered  ! 

—  Lost  the  world,  and  gained,  I  fear,  a  certain  place 
I  'm  to  describe  loth  ! 

Still,  if  prayer  and  fasting  tame  the  pride  long  pam- 
pered, 

Mercy  may  be  mine  :  amendment  never  comes  too 
late. 

How  can  I  amend  beset  by  cursers,  kickers  ? 

Pluck  this  brand  from  out  the  burning  !  Once  away, 
I  take  my  Bible-oath, 

Never  more  —  so  long  as  life's  weak  lamp-flame  flick- 
ers — 

No,  not  once  I  '11  tease  you,  but  in  silence  bear  my 
fate  !  " 


PIETRO  OF  ABANO.  409 

"  Gently,  good  my  Genius,  Oracle  unerring  ! 

Strange  now !  can  you  guess  on  what  —  as  in  you 
peeped  —  it  was  I  pondered  ? 

You  and  I  are  both  of  one  mind  in  preferring 

Power  to  wealth,  but  —  here's  the  point  —  what  sort 
of  power,  I  ask  ? 

Ruling  men  is  vulgar,  easy  and  ignoble  : 

Rid  yourself  of  conscience,  quick  you  have  at  beck 
and  call  the  fond  herd. 

But  who  wields  the  crosier,  down  may  fling  the  crow- 
bill : 

That  "s  the  power  I  covet  now  ;  soul's  sway  o'er  souls 
—  my  task  ! 

"  'Well  but,' you  object,  S'ou  have  it,  who  by  glamour 
Dress  up  lies  to  look  like  truths,  mask    folly  in  the 

garb  of  reason  : 
Your  soul  acts  on  theirs,  sure,  when  the  people  clamor 
Hold  their  peace,  now  fight  now  fondle,  —  earwigged 

through  the  brains.' 
Possibly  !  but  still  the  operation  's  mundane, 
Grosser    than     a    taste     demands    which  —  craving 

manna  —  kecks  at  peason  — 
Power  o'er  men  by  wants  material :  why  should  one 

deign 
Rule  by  sordid  hopes  and  fears  —  a  grunt  for  all  one's 

pains  ? 


410  PIETRO   OF  ABANO. 

"  No,  if  men  must  praise  me,  let  them  praise  to  pur- 
pose ! 
Would  we  move  the  \Yorld,  not  earth  but  heaven  must 

be  our  fulcrum  —  pou  sto  ! 
Thus  I  seek  to  move  it :  INIaster,  why  inte'rpose  — 
Baulk  my  climbing  close  on  what 's  the  ladder's  tojD- 

most  round  ? 
Statecraft  't  is  I  step  from  :  when  by  priestcraft  hoisted 
Up   to  where  my  foot  may  touch   the   highest   rung 

which  fate  allows  toe, 
Then  indeed  ask  favor !     On  you  shall  be  foisted 
No   excuse  :    I  '11   pay  my   debt,  each   penny  of   the 
pound  ! 

"  Ho,  my  knaves  without   there  !     Lead  this  worthy 

down-stairs  ! 
No  farewell,  good  Paul  —  nay,  Peter  —  what 's  your 

name  remembered  rightly  ? 
Come,  he  's  humble  :  out  another  would  have  flounced 

—  airs 
Suitors  often  give  themselves  when  our  sort  bow  them 

forth. 
Did  I  touch  his  rags  ?     He  surely  kept  his  distance  : 
Yet,  there  somehow  passed  to  me  from  him  —  where'er 

the  virtue  might  lie  — 
Something  that  inspires  my  soul  —  Oh,  by  assistance 
Doubtlessly  of   Peter  !  —  still,  he  's  worth   just  what 

he  's  worth  ! 


PIETRO   OF  ABAXO.  411 

"  'T  is  my  own  soul  soars  now  :  soaring  —  how  ?     By 

crawling  ! 
I  '11  to  Rome,  before  Rome's  feet  the  temporal-supreme 

lay  prostrate  ! 
'  Hands  '  (I  '11  say)  '  proficient  once  in  pulling,  hauling 
This  and  that  way  men  as  I  was  minded  —  feet  now 

clasp  ! ' 
Ay,  the  Kaiser's  self  has  wrung  them  in  his  fen-or  ! 
Now  —  they  only  sue  to  slave  for  Rome,  nor  at  one 

doit  the  cost  rate. 
Rome's  adopted  child  —  no  bone,  no  muscle,  nerve  or 
Sinew  of   me    but  I  '11    strain,  though   out  my  life  I 

gasp  !  " 

As  he  stood  one  evening  proudly  —  (he  had  traversed 

Rome  on  horseback  —  peerless  pageant !  —  claimed 
the  Lateran  as  new  Pope)  — 

Thinking  "  All 's  attained  now  1  Pontiff !  Who  could 
have  erst 

Dreamed  of  my  advance  so  far  when,  some  ten  years 
ago, 

I  embraced  devotion,  grew  from  priest  to  bishop, 

Gained  the  Purple,  bribed  the  Conclave,  got  the  Two- 
thirds,  saw  my  coop  ope. 

Came  out  —  what  Rome  hails  me  !  O  were  there  a 
wish-shop, 

Not  one  wish  more  would  I  purchase  —  lord  of  all 
below ! 


412  PIETRO   OF  ABANO. 

"Ha — who  dares  intrude  now  —  puts  aside  the  ar- 
ras ? 

What,  old  Peter,  here  again,  at  such  a  time,  in  such  a 
presence  ? 

Satan  sends  this  plague  back  merely  to  embarrass 

Me  who  enter  on  my  ofBce  —  little  needing  you  ! 

'Faith,  I  'm  touched  myself  by  age,  but  you  look 
Tithon  ! 

Were  it  vain  to  seek  of  you  the  sole  prize  left  —  re- 
juvenescence ? 

Well,  since  flesh  is  grass  which  Time  must  lay  his 
scythe  on, 

Say  your  say  and  so  depart  and  make  no  more  ado  !  " 

Peter  faltered  —  coughing  first  by  way  of  prologue  — 
"  Holiness,  your  help  comes  late  :  a  death  at  ninety 

little  matters. 
Padua,  build  poor  Peter's  pyre  now,  on  log  roll  log, 
Burn   away  —  I  've  lived  my  day !     Yet   here  's   the 

sting  in  death  — 
I  've  an  author's  pride  :  I  want  my  Book's  survival : 
See,  I  've  hid  it  in  my  breast  to  warm  me  mid  the  rags 

and  tatters  ! 
Save  it  —  tell  next  age  your  Master  had  no  rival  ! 
Scholar's  debt  discharged  in  full,  be   '  Thanks  '  my 

latest  breath !  " 


PIETRO   OF  ABANO.  413 

"  Faugh,  the  frowsy  bundle  —  scribblings  harum-sca- 
rum 

Scattered  o'er  a  dozen  sheepskins  !  What 's  the  name 
of  this  farrago  ? 

Ha  —  '  Conciliator  Differentiaruju  '  — 

Man  and  book  may  burn  together,  cause  the  world  no 
loss  ! 

Stop  —  what  else  ?     A  tractate  — ■  eh,  '  De  Spcciehis 

Ceremonialis  Ma-gi-cB  ?  '    I  dream  sure  !    Hence,  away, 

Wizard,  —  quick  avoid  me  !    Vain  you  clasp  my  knee, 

buss 
Hand  that  bears  the  Fisher's  ring  or  foot  that  boasts 

the  Cross  ! 

"  Help  !     The  old  magician  clings  like  an  octopus  ! 
Ah,  you  rise  now  —  fuming,  fretting,  frowning,  if  I 

read  your  features  ! 
Frown,  who  cares  ?     We  're  Pope  —  once  Pope,  you 

can't  unpope  us  ! 
Good  —  you  muster  up  a  smile  :  that 's  better  !     Still 

so  brisk  ? 
All  at  once  grown  youthful  ?     But  the  case  is  plain  ! 

Ass  — 
Here  I  dally  with  the  fiend,  yet  know  the  Word  — 

compels  all  creatures 


414  PIETRO  OF  ABANO. 

Earthly,  heavenly,  hellish.     Apage,  Sathanas  ! 
Dicam   verbiim  Salomonis^^ — "  —  dicitef"     When  — 
whisk !  — 

What  was  changed  ?     The  stranger  gave  his  eyes  a 

rubbing  : 
There  smiled  Peter's  face  turned  back  a  moment  at 

him  o'er  the  shoulder, 
As  the  black-door  shut,  bang  !    "  So  he  scapes  a  drub- 
bing ! " 
(Quoth  a  boy  who,  unespied,  had  stopped  to  hear  the 

talk). 
"That's  the  way  to  thank  these  wizards  when  they 

bid  men 
Benedicite  !    What  ails  you  ?     You,  a  man,  and  yet  no 

bolder  ? 
Foreign  Sir,  you  look  but  foolish  !  "     "  Idmen,  idmen  .'"' 
Groaned  the  Greek.     "  O  Peter,  cheese  at  last  I  know 

from  chalk  !  " 

Peter  lived  his  life  out,  menaced  yet  no  martyr. 
Knew  himself  the  mighty  man  he  was  —  such  knowl- 
edge all  his  guerdon, 
Left  the  world  a  big  book  —  people  but  in  part  err 
When  they  style  a  true  Scientice.  Co7n-pen-di-um  : 
*'  Admirationem  iiicutit  "  they  sourly 
Smile,  as  fast  they  shut  the  folio  which  myself  was 
somehow  spurred  on 


PIETRO   OF  ABA  NO.  415 

Once   to   ope  :    but    love  —  life's    milk    which    daily, 

hourly, 
Blockheads  lap  —  O  Peter,  still  thy  taste  of  love  's  to 

come  ! 

Greek,  was  your  ambition  likewise  doomed  to  failure  ? 
True,  I  find  no  record  you  wore  purple,  walked  with 

axe  and  fasces. 
Played  some  antipope's  part :  still,  friend,  don't  turn 

tail,  you  're 
Certain,  with  but  these  two  gifts,  to  gain  earth's  prize 

in  time  ! 
Cleverness  uncurbed  by  conscience  —  if  you  ransacked 
Peter's  book  you  'd  find  no  potent  spell  like  these  to 

rule  the  masses  ; 
Nor  should  want  example,  had  I  not  to  transact 
Other  business.     Go  your  ways,   you  '11  thrive  !     So 

ends  my  rhyme. 


When  these  parts  Tiberius,  —  not  yet  Ccesar,  —  trav- 
elled, 
Passing  Padua,  he  consulted  Padua's  Oracle  of  Ger- 

yon 
(God  three-headed,  thrice  wise)  just  to  get  unravelled 
Certain  tangles  of  his  future.     "Fling  at  Abano 
Golden  dice,"  it  answered  :  "  dropt  within  the  fount 
there, 


4i6 


PIETRO   OF  ABAXO. 


Note  what  sum  the  pips  present ! "     And  still  we  see 

each  die,  the  very  one, 
Turn  up,  through  the  crystal,  — read  the  whole  account 

there 
Where  't  is  told  by  Suetonius,  —  each  its  highest  throw. 


Scarce  the  sportive  fancy-dice  I  fling  show  "  Venus  :  " 
Still  —  for  love  of  that  dear  land  which  I  so   oft  in 

dreams  revisit  — 
I  have  —  Oh,  not  sung  !  but  lilted  (as  —  between  us  — 
Grows  my  lazy  custom)  this  its  legend.    What  the  lilt .? 


^g*^-*— • 


DOCTOR 


A  Rabbi  told  me  :  On  the  day  allowed 
Satan  for  carping  at  God's  rule,  he  came, 
Fresh  from  our  earth,  to  brave  the  angel-crowd. 

"  What  is  the  fault  now  ?  "     "  This  I  find  to  blame  : 
Many  and  various  are  the  tongues  below, 
Yet  all  agree  in  one  speech,  all  proclaim 

"  *  Hell  has  no  might  to  match  what  earth  can  show 
Death  is  the  strongest-born  of  Hell,  and  yet 
Stronger  than  Death  is  a  Bad  Wife,  we  know.' 

"  Is  it  a  wonder  if  I  fume  and  fret  — 

Robbed  of  my  rights,  since  Death  am  I,  and  mine 

The  style  of  Strongest  ?     Men  pay  Nature's  debt 

"  Because  they  must  at  my  demand  ;  decline 
To  pay  it  henceforth  surely  men  will  please. 
Provided  husbands  with  bad  wives  combine 
27 


41 8  DOCTOR  . 

"  To  baffle  Death.     Judge  between  me  and  these  !  " 
"  Thyself  shalt  judge.     Descend  to  earth  in  shape 
Of  mortal,  marry,  drain  from  froth  to  lees 

"  The  bitter  draught,  then  see  if  thou  escape 
Concluding,  with  men  sorrowful  and  sage, 
A  Bad  Wife's   strength    Death's   self   in  vain  would 
ape  !  " 

How  Satan  entered  on  his  pilgrimage, 

Conformed  himself  to  earthly  ordinance, 

Wived  and  played  husband  well  from  youth  to  age 

Intrepidly —  I  leave  untold,  advance 
Through  many  a  married  year  until  I  reach 
A  day  when  —  of  his  father's  countenance 

The  very  image,  like  him  too  in  speech 

As  well  as  thought  and  deed,  —  the  union's  fruit 

Attained  maturity.     "  I  needs  must  teach 

"  My  son  a  trade  :  but  trade,  such  son  to  suit, 
Needs  seeking  after.     He  a  man  of  war.? 
Too  cowardly  !     A  lawyer  wins  repute  — 

"  Having  to  toil  and  moil,  though  —  both  which  are 
Beyond  this  sluggard.     There  's  Divinity  : 
No,  that 's  my  own  bread-winner —  that  be  far 


DOCTOR 


419 


"  From  my  poor  offspring  !     Physic  ?     Ha,  we  'II  try 

If  this  be  practicable.     Where  's  my  wit 

Asleep  ?  —  since,  now  I  come  to  think.  .  .  .  Ay,  ay ! 

"  Hither,  my  son  !  Exactly  have  I  hit 
On  a  profession  for  thee.  Medicus  — 
Behold,  thou  art  appointed  !     Yea,  I  spit 

"  Upon  thine  eyes,  bestow  a  virtue  thus 
That  henceforth  not  this  human  form  I  wear 
Shalt  thou  perceive  alone,  but  —  one  of  us 

"  By  privilege  —  thy  fleshly  sight  shall  bear 

Me  in  my  spirit-person  as  I  walk 

The  world  and  take  my  prey  appointed  there. 

"  Doctor  once  dubbed  —  what  ignorance  shall  baulk 
Thy  march  triumphant  ?     Diagnose  the  gout 
As  colic,  and  prescribe  it  cheese  for  chalk  — 

"  No  matter  !     All 's  one  :  cure  shall  come  about 
And  win  thee  wealth  —  fees  paid  with  such  a  roar 
Of  thanks  and  praise  alike  from  lord  and  lout 

"  As  never  stunned  man's  ears  on  earth  before. 

'  How  may  this  be  ? '    Why,  that 's  my  sceptic  !    Soon 

Truth  will  corrupt  thee,  soon  thou  doubt'st  no  more  ! 


420  DOCTOR  . 

"  Why  is  it  I  bestow  on  thee  the  boon 
Of  recognizing  me  the  while  I  go 
Invisibly  among  men,  morning,  noon 

"  And  night,  from  house   to   house,  and  —  quick   or 

slow  — 
Take  my  appointed  prey  ?     They  summon  thee 
For  help,  suppose  :  obey  the  summons  !  so  ! 

"  Enter,  look   round  !     Where  's  Death  ?     Know  —  I 

am  he, 
Satan  who  work  all  evil  :  I  't  is,  bring 
Pain  to  the  patient  in  whate'er  degree. 

"  I,   then,   am   there :    first  glance    thine    eye   shall 

fling 
Will  find  me  —  whether  distant  or  at  hand, 
As  I  am  free  to  do  my  spiriting 

"  At  such  mere  first  glance  thou  shalt  understand 

Wherefore  I  reach  no  higher  up  the  room 

Than  door  or  window,  when  my  form  is  scanned. 

"  Howe'er  friends'  faces  please  to  gather  gloom. 
Bent  o'er  the  sick,  —  howe'er  himself  desponds,  — 
In  such  case  Death  is  not  the  sufferer's  doom. 


I 


DOCTOR  .  421 

"  Contrariwise,  do  friends  rejoice  my  bonds 

Are  broken,  does  the  captive  in  his  turn 

Crow  '  Life  shall  conquer  ?  '    Nip  these  foolish  fronds 

"  Of  hope  a-sprout,  if  haply  thou  discern 

Me  at  the  head  —  my  victim's  head  be  sure  ! 

Forth  now !     This  taught  thee,  little  else  to  learn  !  " 

And  forth  he  went.     Folks  heard  him  ask  demure 
"  How  do  you  style  this  ailment  ?     (There  he  peeps, 
My  father,  through  the  arras  !)      Sirs,  the  cure 

"  Is  plain  as  A.  B.  C  !     Experience  steeps 

Blossoms  of  pennyroyal  half  an  hour 

In  sherris.     Sumat  I —  Lo,  how  sound  he  sleeps  — ' 

"  The  subject  you  presumed  was  past  the  power 
Of  Galen  to  relieve  !  "     Or  else  "  How  's  this  ? 
Why  call  for  help  so  tardily  ?     Clouds  lour 

"  Portentously  indeed.  Sirs  !     (Nought 's  amiss  : 
He  's  at  the  bed-foot  merely.)     Still,  the  storm 
May  pass  averted  —  not  by  quacks,  I  wis 

"  Like  you,  my  masters  !     You,  forsooth,  perform 

A  miracle  ?     Stand,  sciolists,  aside  ! 

At  ignorance  blood,  ne'er  so  cold,  grows  warm  !  " 


422  DOCTOR  . 

Which  boasting  by  result  was  justified, 

Big  as  might  words  be  :  whether  drugged  or  left 

Drugless,  the  patient  always  lived,  not  died. 

Great  the  heir's  gratitude,  so  nigh  bereft 

Of  all  he  prized  in  this  world  :  sweet  the  smile 

Of  disconcerted  rivals  :  "  Cure  ?  —  say,  theft 

"  From  Nature  in  despite  of  Art  —  so  style 
This  off-hand  killor-cure  work  !     You  did  much, 
I  had  done  more  :  folks  cannot  wait  awhile  !  " 

But  did  the  case  change  ?  was  it  —  "  Scarcely  such 

The  symptoms  as  to  warrant  our  recourse 

To  your  skill,  Doctor  !     Yet  since  just  a  touch 

"  Of  pulse,  a  taste  of  breath,  has  all  the  force 

With  you  of  long  investigation  claimed 

By  others,  —  tracks  an  ailment  to  its  source 

"  Intuitively,  —  may  we  ask  unblamed 

What  from  this  pimple  you  prognosticate  ?  " 

"  Death  !  "  was  the  answer,  as  he  saw  and  named 

The  coucher  by  the  sick  man's  head.     "  Too  late 
You  send  for  my  assistance.     I  am  bold 
Only  by  Nature's  leave,  and  bow  to  Fate  ! 


DOCTOR  .  423 

"  Besides,  you  have  my  rivals  :  lavish  gold  ! 
How  comfortably  quick  shall  life  depart 
Cosseted  by  attentions  manifold  ! 

"  One  day,  one  hour  ago,  perchance  my  art 

Had  done  some  service.     Since  you  have  yourselves 

Chosen  —  before  the  horse  —  to  put  the  cart, 

"  Wh}-,  Sirs,  the  sooner  that  the  sexton  delves 
Your  patient's  grave,  the  better  !     How  j-ou  stare 
—  Shallow,  for  all  the  deep  books  on  your  shelves  ! 

"  Fare  you  well,  fumblers  !  "     Do  I  need  declare 
What  name  and  fame,  what  riches  recompensed 
The  Doctor's  practice  ?     Never  anywhere 

Such  an  adept  as  daily  evidenced 

Each  new  vaticination  !     Oh,  not  he 

Like  dolts  who  dallied  with  their  scruples,  fenced 

With  subterfuge,  nor  gave  out  frank  and  free 
Something  decisive  !     If  he  said  "  I  save 
The  patient,"  saved  he  was  :  if  "  Death  will  be 

"  His   portion,"   you  might   count  him    dead.     Thus 

brave, 
Behold  our  wortlw,  sans  competitor 
Throughout  the  countr}',  on  the  architrave 


424  DOCTOR  . 

Of  Glory's  temple  golden-lettered  for 
Machaon  redivivus  !     So,  it  fell 
That,  of  a  sudden,  when  the  Emperor 

Was  smit  by  sore  disease,  I  need  not  tell 

If  any  other  Doctor's  aid  was  sought 

To  come  and  forthwith  make  the  sick  Prince  well. 

"  He  will  reward  thee  as  a  monarch  ought. 
Not  much  imports  the  malady  ;  but  then, 
He  clings  to  life  and  cries  like  one  distraught 

"  For  thee  —  who,  from  a  simple  citizen, 
May'st  look  to  rise  in  rank,  —  nay,  haply  wear 
A  medal  with  his  portrait,  —  always  when 

"  Recovery  is  quite  accomplished.     There  ! 
Pass  to  the  presence  !  "     Hardly  has  he  crossed 
The  chamber's  threshold  when  he  halts,  aware' 

Of  who  stands  sentry  by  the  head.     All 's  lost. 
^"  Sire,  nought  avails  my  art :  you  near  the  goal, 
And  end  the  race  by  giving  up  the  ghost." 

"  How  ?  "  cried  the  monarch  :  "  Names  upon  your  roll 

Of  half  my  subjects  rescued  by  your  skill  — 

Old  and  young,  rich  and  poor  —  crowd  cheek  by  jowl 


DOCTOR  .  425 

"  And  yet  no  room  for  mine  ?     Be  saved  I  will  ! 
Why  else  am  I  earth's  foremost  potentate  ? 
Add  me  to  these  and  take  as  fee  your  fill 

"  Of  gold  —  that  point  admits  of  no  debate 
Between  us  :  save  me,  as  you  can  and  must,  — 
Gold,    till    your   gown's    pouch    cracks    beneath   the 

weight !  " 

This  touched  the  Doctor.     "  Truly  a  home-thrust, 
Parent,  you  will  not  parry !     Have  I  dared 
Entreat  that  you  forego  the  meal  of  dust 

—  "Man  that  is  snake's  meat  — when  I  saw  prepared 
Your  daily  portion  ?     Never  !     Just  this  once. 
Go  from  his  head,  then,  —  let  his  life  be  spared  !  " 

Whisper  met  whisper  in  the  gruff  response 

"  Fool,  I  must  have  my  prey  :  no  inch  I  budge 

From  where  thou  see'st  me  thus  myself  ensconce." 

"Ah,"  moaned  the  sufferer,  "by  thy  look  I  judge 
Wealth  fails  to  tempt  thee  :  what  if  honors  prove 
More  efficacious  ?     Nought  to  him  I  grudge 

"  Who  saves  me.     Only  keep  my  head  above 

The  cloud  that 's  creeping  round  it  —  I  '11  divide 

My  empire  with  thee  !    No  ?    What 's  left  but  —  love  ? 


426  DOCTOR  . 

"  Does  love  allure  thee  ?     Well  then,  take  as  bride 

My  only  daughter,  fair  beyond  belief  ! 

Save  me  —  to-morrow  shall  the  knot  be  tied  !  " 

"  Father,  you  hear  him  !     Respite  ne'er  so  brief 

Is  all  I  beg  :  go  now  and  come  again 

Next  day,  for  aught  I  care  :  respect  the  grief 

"  Mine  will  be  if  thy  first-born  sues  in  vain  !  " 
"  Fool,  I  must  have  my  prey !  "  was  all  he  got 
In  answer.     But  a  fancy  crossed  his  brain. 

"  I  have  it !     Sire,  methinks  a  meteor  shot 
Just  now  across  the  heavens  and  neutralized 
Jove's  salutary  influence  :  'neath  the  blot 

"  Plumb  are  you  placed  now :  well  that  I  surmised 
The  cause  of  failure  !     Knaves,  reverse  the  bed  !  " 
"  Stay ! "   groaned   the   monarch,    "  I    shall   be   cap- 
sized — 

"  Jolt  —  jolt  —  my  heels  uplift  where  late  my  head 
Was  lying  —  sure  I  'm  turned  right  round  at  last ! 
What  do  you  say  now.  Doctor  ?  "     Nought  he  said 

For  why  ?    With  one  brisk  leap  the  Antic  passed 
From  couch  foot  back  to  pillow,  —  as  before, 
Lord  of  the  situation.     Long  aghast 


DOCTOR  .  427 

The  Doctor  gazed,  then  "  Yet  one  trial  more 
Is  left  me  "  inwardly  he  uttered.     "  Shame 
Upon  thy  flinty  heart  !     Do  I  implore 

"  This  trifling  favor  in  the  idle  name 
Of  mercy  to  the  moribund  ?  I  plead 
The  cause  of  all  thou  dost  affect :  my  aim 

"  Befits  my  author  !     Why  would  I  succeed  ? 

Simply  that  by  success  I  may  promote 

The  growth  of  thy  pet  virtues  —  pride  and  greed. 

"  But  keep  thy  favors  !  —  curse  thee  !     I  devote 
Henceforth  my  service  to  the  other  side. 
No  time  to  lose  :  the  rattle  's  in  his  throat. 

"  So,  —  not  to  leave  one  last  resource  untried,  — 
Run  to  my  house  with  all  haste,  somebody ! 
Bring  me  that  knobstick  thence,  so  often  plied 

"With  profit  by  the  astrologer — shall  I 
Disdain  its  help,  the  mystic  Jacob's-Staff  ? 
Sire,  do  but  have  the  courage  not  to  die 

"  Till  this  arrive  !     Let  none  of  you  dare  laugh  ! 
Though  rugged  its  exterior,  I  have  seen 
That  implement  work  wonders,  send  the  chaff 


428  DOCTOR  . 

"  Quick  and  thick  flying  from  the  wheat  —  I  mean, 
By  metaphor,  a  human  sheaf  it  thrashed 
Flail-like.     Go  fetch  it !     Or —  a  word  between 

"  Just  you  and  me,  friend  !  —  go  bid,  unabashed, 
My  mother,  whom  you  '11  find  there,  bring  the  stick 
Herself  —  herself,  mind  !  "     Out  the  lackey  dashed 

Zealous  upon  the  errand.     Craft  and  trick 
Are  meat  and  drink  to  Satan  :  and  he  grinned 

—  How  else  ?  —  at  an  excuse  so  politic 

For  failure  :  scarce  would  Jacob's-Staff  rescind 
Fate's  firm  decree  !     And  ever  as  he  neared 
The  agonizing  one,  his  breath  like  wind 

Froze  to  the  marrow,  while  his  eye-flash  seared 
Sense  in  the  brain  up  :  closelier  and  more  close 
Pressing  his  prey,  when  at  the  door  appeared 

—  Who  but  his  Wife  the  Bad  ?     Whereof  one  dose, 
One  grain,  one  mite  of  the  medicament. 

Sufficed  him.     Up  he  sprang.     One  word,  too  gross 

To  soil  my  lips  with,  —  and  through  ceiling  went 
Somehow  the  Husband.     "  That  a  storm  's  dispersed 
We  know  for  certain  by  the  sulphury  scent  1 


DOCTOR  .  429 

"  Hail  to  the  Doctor  !     Who  but  one  so  versed 
In  all  Dame  Nature's  secrets  had  prescribed 
The  stall  thus  opportunely  ?     Style  him  first 

"  And  foremost  of  physicians  !  "  "I  've  imbibed 
Elixir  surely,"  smiled  the  prince,  —  "  have  gained 
New  lease  of  life.     Dear  Doctor,  how  you  bribed 

"  Death  to  forego  me,  boots  not :  j'ou  've  obtained 
My  daughter  and  her  dowr}'.     Death,  I  've  heard, 
Was  still  on  earth  the  strongest  power  that  reigned, 

"  Except  a  Bad  Wife  !  "     Whereunto  demurred 
Nowise  the  Doctor,  so  refused  the  fee 
—  No  dowr}-,  no  bad  wife  ! 

"  You  think  absurd 
This  tale  ?  "  —  the  Rabbi  added  :  "  True,  our  Talmud 
Boasts  sundr)'-  such  :  yet  —  have  our  elders  erred 
In  thinking  there  's  some  water  there,  not  all  mud  ?  " 
I  tell  it,  as  the  Rabbi  told  it  me. 


PAN   AND    LUNA. 

Si  credere  dignum  est.  —  Georgic,  III.  390. 


O  WORTHY  of  belief  I  hold  it  was, 

Virgil,  your  legend  in  those  strange  three  lines  ! 

No  question,  that  adventure  came  to  pass 

One  black  night  in  Arcadia  :  yes,  the  pines. 

Mountains  and  valleys  mingling  made  one  mass 

Of  black  with  void  black  heaven  :  the  earth's  confines, 

The  sky's  embrace,  —  below,  above,  around, 

All  hardened  into  black  without  a  bound. 

Fill  up  a  swart  stone  chalice  to  the  brim 
With  fresh-squeezed  yet  fast-thickening  poppy-juice  : 
See  how  the  sluggish  jelly,  late  a-swim. 
Turns  marble  to  the  touch  of  who  would  loose 
The  solid  smooth,  grown  jet  from  rim  to  rim, 
By  turning  round  the  bowl  !     So  night  can  fuse 
Earth  with  her  all-comprising  sk3^     No  less. 
Light,  the  least  spark,  shows  air  and  emptiness. 


PAN  AND  LUNA.  43 1 

And  thus  it  proved  when  —  diving  into  space, 
Stript  of  all  vapor,  from  each  web  of  mist 
Utterly  film-free  —  entered  on  her  race 
The  naked  Moon,  full-orbed  antagonist 
Of  night  and  dark,  night's  dowry  :  peak  to  base. 
Upstarted  mountains,  and  each  valley,  kissed 
To  sudden  Hfe,  lay  silver-bright :  in  air 
Flew    she    revealed,    Maid  -  Moon    with     limbs    all 
bare. 

Still  as  she  fled,  each  depth  —  where  refuge  seemed  — 

Opening  a  long  pale  chamber,  left  distinct 

Those  limbs  :  mid  still-retreating  blue,  she  teemed 

Herself  with  whiteness,  —  virginal,  uncinct 

By  any  halo  save  what  finely  gleamed 

To  outline  not  disguise  her  :  heaven  was  linked 

In  one  accord  with  earth  to  quaff  the  joy. 

Drain  beauty  to  the  dregs  without  alloy, 

Wheieof  she  grew  aware.     What  help  ?    When,  lo, 
A  succorable  cloud  with  sleep  lay  dense  : 
Some  pine-tree  top  had  caught  it  sailing  slow, 
And  tethered  for  a  prize  :  in  evidence 
Captive  lay  fleece  on  fleece  of  piled-up  snow 
Drowsily  patient  :  fiake-heaped  how  or  whence. 
The  structure  of  that  succorable  cloud. 
What  matter  ?     Shamed  she  plunged  into  its  shroud. 


432  PAN  AND  LUNA. 

Orbed  —  so  the  woman-figure  poets  call 
Because  of  rounds  on  rounds  —  that  apple-shaped 
Head  which  its  hair  binds  close  into  a  ball 
Each  side  the  curving  ears  —  that  pure  undraped 
Pout  of  the  sister  paps  —  that  .  .  .  Once  for  all, 
Say — her  consummate  circle  thus  escaped 
With  its  innumerous  circlets,  sank  absorbed, 
Safe  in  the  cloud  —  O  naked  Moon  full-orbed  ! 

But  what  means  this  ?     The  downy  swathes  combine, 
Conglobe,  the  smothery  coy-caressing  stuff 
Curdles  about  her  !     Vain  each  twist  and  twine 
Those  lithe  limbs  try,  encroached  on  by  a  fluff 
Fitting  as  close  as  fits  the  dented  spine 
Its  flexile  ivory  outside-flesh  :  enough  ! 
The  plumy  drifts  contract,  condense,  constringe, 
Till  she  is  swallowed  by  the  feathery  springe. 

As  when  a  pearl  slips  lost  in  the  thin  foam 
Churned  on  a  sea-shore,  and,  o'er  frothed,  conceits 
Herself  safe-housed  in  Amphitrite's  dome,  — 
If,  through  the  bladdery  wave-worked  yeast,  she  meets 
What  most   she  loathes   and   leaps  from,  —  elf  from 

gnome 
No  gladlier,  — finds  that  safest  of  retreats 
Bubbles  about  a  treacherous  hand  wide  ope 
To  grasp  her  —  (divers  who  pick  pearls  so  grope)  — 


PAN  AND  LUNA.  433 

So  lay  this  Maid-Moon  clasped  around  and  caught 
By  rough  red  Pan,  the  god  of  all  that  tract : 
He  it  was  schemed  the  snare  thus  subtly  wrought 
With  simulated  earth-breath,  —  wool-tufts  packed 
Into  a  billowy  wrappage.     Sheep  far-sought 
For  spotless  shearings  yield  such  :  take  the  fact 
As  learned  Virgil  gives  it,  —  how  the  breed 
Whitens  itself  for  ever  :  yes,  indeed  ! 

If  one  fore-father  ram,  though  pure  as  chalk 
From  tinge  on  fleece,  should  still  display  a  tongue 
Black    'neath  the  beast's  moist   palate,  prompt  men 

baulk 
The  propagating  plague  :  he  gets  no  young  : 
They  rather  slay  him,  —  sell  his  hide  to  caulk 
Ships  with,  first   steeped   in  pitch,  —  nor  hands    are 

wrung 
In  sorrow  for  his  fate  :  protected  thus, 
The  purity  we  love  is  gained  for  us. 

So  did  Girl-Moon,  by  just  her  attribute 
Of  unmatched  modesty  betrayed,  lie  trapped, 
Bruised  to  the  breast  of  Pan,  half  god  half  brute. 
Raked  by  his  bristly  boar-sward  while  he  lapped 
—  Never  say,  kissed  her !  that  were  to  pollute 
Love's  language  —  which  moreover  proves  unapt 
28 


434  P^^  ^^^   LUNA. 

To  tell  how  she  recoiled  —  as  who  finds  thorns 
Where  she  sought  flowers  —  when,  feeling,  she  touched 
—  horns ! 

Then  —  does  the  legend  say  ?  —  first  moon-eclipse 

Happened,  first  swooning-fit  which  puzzled  sore 

The  early  sages  ?     Is  that  why  she  dips 

Into  the  dark,  a  minute  and  no  more, 

Only  so  long  as  serves  her  while  she  rips 

The  cloud's  womb  through  and,  faultless  as  before, 

Pursues  her  way  ?     No  lesson  for  a  maid 

Left  she,  a  maid  herself  thus  trapped,  betrayed  ? 

Ha,  Virgil  ?     Tell  the  rest,  you  !     "  To  the  deep 
Of  his  domain  the  wildwood,  Pan  forthwith 
Called  her,  and  so  she  followed  "  —  in  her  sleep, 
Surely ?  —  "by  no  means  spurning  him."     The  myth 
Explain  who  may !     Let  all  else  go,  I  keep 
—  As  of  a  ruin  just  a  monolith  — 
Thus  much,  one  verse  of  five  words,  each  a  boon  : 
Arcadia,  night,  a  cloud,  Pan,  and  the  moon. 


"  Touch  him  ne'er  so  lightly,  into  song  he  broke  : 
Soil  so  quick-receptive,  —  not  one  feather-seed, 
Not  one  flower-dust  fell  but  straight  its  fall  awoke 
Vitalizing  virtue  :  song  would  song  succeed 
Sudden  as  spontaneous  —  prove  a  poet-soul !  " 

Indeed  ? 
Rock  's  the  song-soil  rather,  surface  hard  and  bare  : 
Sun  and  dew  their  mildness,  storm  and  frost  their  rage 
Vainly  both  expend,  —  few  flowers  awaken  there  : 
Quiet  in  its  cleft  broods  —  what  the  after  age 
Knows  and  names  a  pine,  a  nation's  heritage. 


STANDARD  AND  POPULAR 

Hitiratp  23oo{i^ 

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HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  CO. 


/'~^ONSIDER  what  you  have  in  the  stnalkst  chosen 
library.  A  company  of  the  wisest  and  wittiest  men 
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Earning  and  7visdo7n.  The  men  themselves  were  hid  and 
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